UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 

BROWSING  ROOM 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SELECTIONS 


FROM  THE  PROSE   WRITINGS  OF 


Edited  with 
Notes  and  an  Introdttction 


LEWIS  E.  GATES 

Instructor  in  English,  Harvard  University 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1        1895 


Copyright,  1895, 

BV 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO. 


Library 

PR 


PREFACE. 


AT  just  this  time,  when  prose  is  apt  to  be  either  over 
refined  and  euphuistic  on  the  one  hand,  or  lawless  and 
even  barbarous  on  the  other,  there  seems  special  reason 
for  trying  to  make  more  accessible  and  popular  the  writ- 
ings of  Cardinal  Newman.  No  style  is  more  fit  than 
Cardinal  Newman's  to  be  a  model  for  those  who  are 
anxious  to  avoid  all  extravagance  and  yet  to  escape 
mediocrity.  And  it  is  with  the  hope  of  offering  to  the 
lovers  of  literature  who  are  convinced  of  this  fact  a 
convenient  means  of  making  Newman's  style  better 
known,  that  the  editor  has  put  together  this  volume  of 
Selections. 

But  there  is  another  object  which  the  volume  has  in 
view ;  the  Selections  are  chosen  for  matter  as  well  as 
for  style.  They  are  meant,  after  a  few  introductory 
passages  of  general  interest,  to  give  something  like 
a  connected  account  in  Newman's  own  words  of  his 
theory  of  life  and  of  his  justification  of  it.  There  are 
special  reasons  why  that  theory  should  be  known  con- 
nectedly and  completely  to  American  readers.  In  the 
new  world  we  are  for  the  most  part  radical,  Protestant. 

iii 

270404 


iv  PREFACE. 

scientific,  untraditional,  and  lacking  in  perspective 
and  in  atmosphere.  Newman  is  intensely  conservative, 
almost  mystical,  Romantic,  mediaeval,  and  everywhere 
alive  to  the  imaginative  splendor  and  power  of  the  past. 
Now  it  is  undoubtedly  difficult  for  any  one  who  is  per- 
meated with  the  modern  spirit  which  has  such  free  play 
in  America,  who  accepts  unhesitatingly  its  postulates, 
and  looks  at  all  things  unquestioningly  from  its  point 
of  view,  to  comprehend  how  a  man  of  real  mental 
power,  of  broad  and  far-reaching  historical  knowledge, 
of  keen  intellect  and  piercingly  certain  logical  method, 
can  have  held  in  these  days  of  science,  the  ideas  about 
religion  and  about  life  that  Newman  adhered  to.  To 
comprehend  this  is  for  the  modern  man  difficult,  if  he 
has  not  the  time  to  run  through  many  volumes,  and  to 
bring  into  connected  form  the  different  parts  of  an 
elaborate  system.  The  present  volume  aims  to  do  this 
work  in  an  unpretentious  manner  for  the  ordinary 
reader,  and  to  give  him,  without  technicalities,  of  phi- 
losophy or  theology,  a  fairly  adequate  statement,  in 
Newman's  own  words,  of  his  most  characteristic  ideas. 
With  these  ideas  before  him,  the  reader  is  left  to  suit 
himself  in  the  matter  of  accepting  or  rejecting  New- 
man's conclusions.  The  important  point  is  that  New- 
man's doctrine  be  at  any  rate  thoroughly  understood ; 
perhaps  it  will  have  to  be  transcended,  but  it  ought  not 
to  be  ignorantly  disregarded  or  put  aside  with  a  sneer. 
The  Introduction  deals  for  the  most  part  with  New- 
man's style  and  rhetorical  methods  ;  the  last  chapter 
points  out  the  relation  of  his  work  to  certain  character- 


PREFACE.  V 

istic  tendencies  in  the  life  and  the  literature  of  the 
early  part  of  the  century. 

The  best  short  sketch  of  Cardinal  Newman's  life  is 
that  by  Mr.  W,  S.  Lilly,  in  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography. 

CAMBRIDGE,  Mass., 

March  23,  1895. 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION 

I.   Newman's  Manner  and  its  Critics  ..       .      ix 

II.  The  Rhetorician   ......        xiii 

III.  Methods xxiii 

IV.  Irony xxviii 

V.  Style  .  xxxii. 

YI.  Additional  Characteristics    .         ...  xxxvii 

VII,   Relation  to  his  Times xlvi 

BIBLIOGRAPHY Ix 

SELECTIONS. 

Site  of  a  University        ......  I 

The  Aim  of  a  University  Course       ...  n 

The  Man  of  the  World 14 

«      Knowledge  Viewed  in  Relation  to  Learning     .  iq 

Lord  Bacon      ........  41 

Literature  and  Life      ......  44 

St.   Philip  Neri 51 

John  Keble 55 

Oxford  Fashions       .......  63 

Kingsley  and  Newman         .....  68 

The  Irreligion  of  the  Age 83 

Knowledge  and  Character    .....  86 

Faith,  not  Knowledge,  governs  Life       ...  95 

Science  and  Religion     ......  101 

Theology .  106 

Art  and  Religion  .......  114 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Prejudiced  Man ng 

Count  Potemkin  and  John  Bull  ....  127 

The  Anglican  Clergy        ......  145 

The  Cells  in  the  Birmingham  Oratory        .         .  148 

Catholic  First  Principles 156 

God,  the  World,  the  Church         .        .        .        .  160 

Miracles    .........  167 

Gurta  and  Juba     .......  178 

Callista's  Vision 193 

NOTES 197 


INTRODUCTION 


NEWMAN'S  style  unites  in  an  exceptional  degree  the 
qualities  of  an  academic  style  with  those  of  the  style  of 
a  man  of  the  world.  It  has  the  accuracy,  the  precis- 
ion of  outline,  and  the  fine  conscientiousness  of  the 
scholar's  style,  as  well  as  the  ease,  the  affability,  and 
the  winning  adroitness  that  come  from  much  human 
intercourse.  In  its  union  of  scholarliness  and  urban- 
ity it  is  unique.  The  style  of  another  Oxford  man, 
whose  work  almost  necessarily  suggests  itself  for  com- 
parison with  that  of  Newman,  attempts  very  much  this 
same  combination  of  qualities.  Matthew  Arnold's 
ideal  of  good  writing  involves,  like  Newman's,  a  per- 
fect union  of  strength  and  grace.  But  Arnold  is  never 
comparable  to  Newman  in  strictness  and  certainty  of 
method ;  he  is  always  so  afraid  of  pedantry  and  scho- 
lasticism as  to  assume  even  greater  desultoriness  than 
is  natural  to  him.  His  urbanity,  too,  has  not  quite  the 
genuineness  of  Newman's ;  it  is  a  somewhat  costly 
affair.  He  prides  himself  on  it  too  palpably.  He 
is  too  consciously  debonair.  There  is  always  a  sus- 
picion of  self-assertion  in  his  work  that  does  more  to 
detract  from  perfect  grace  of  demeanor  than  a  great 

IX 


X  INTRODUCTION 

deal  of  severity  of  method  and  strenuousness  of  logic 
would  detract.  In  Newman's  writings,  even  in  his 
most  personal  works  and  in  his  most  intimate  moments, 
there  is  a  curious  lack  of  this  self-assertion.  Probably 
no  book  so  uncompromisingly  autobiographical  as  the 
Apologia  seems  from  first  to  last  so  free  from  egotism 
and  leaves  so  charming  an  impression  of  frankness  and 
simplicity. 

It  is,  nevertheless,  not  strange  that  among  a  people 
like  the  English,  intensely  suspicious  of  manner  and 
affectedly  straightforward,  Newman's  adroitness  and 
grace  should  have  exposed  him  to  some  unpleasant 
charges  of  insincerity.  It  is  so  easy  for  a  bluff,  down- 
right man  to  misinterpret  subtlety  as  duplicity,  and  to  re- 
buke reticence  and  indirectness  as  deceit  and  hypocrisy. 
This  is  substantially  what  Kingsley  did  in  his  famous  at- 
tack upon  Newman.  He  had  an  instinctive  dislike  of 
Newman's  sinuousness  and  suppleness,  and  without 
pausing  to  analyze  very  carefully,  he  spoke  out  fiercely 
against  Newman's  whole  work  as  containing  a  special  va- 
riety of  ecclesiastical  hypocrisy.  The  charge  was  the 
more  plausible  inasmuch  as  there  is  unquestionably  a 
certain  debased  ecclesiastical  manner  whose  cheaply  in- 
sinuating suavity  might,  by  hasty  observers,  be  confused 
with  Newman's  bearing  and  style.  Yet  the  injustice 
of  this  confusion  and  the  unfairness  of  Kingsley's 
charges  become  plain  after  a  moment's  analysis. 

In  spite  of  Newman's  ease  and  affability,  you  feel, 
throughout  his  writings,  when  you  stop  to  consider,  an 
underlying  suggestion  of  uncompromising  strength  and 
unwavering  conviction.  You  are  sure  that  the  author 
is  really  giving  you  himself  frankly  and  unreservedly, 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

notwithstanding  his  apparent  self-effacement,  and  that 
he  is  imposing  upon  you  his  own  conclusions,  persua- 
sively and  constrainingly.  Moreover,  you  are  sure  that, 
however  adroitly  he  may  be  developing  his  thesis,  with 
an  eye  to  the  skilful  manipulation  of  your  prejudices, 
he  would  at  any  moment  give  you  a  point-blank  answer, 
if  you  put  him  a  point-blank  question.  -  There  is  never 
any  real  doubt  in  your  mind  of  his  courage  and  manly 
English  temper,  or  of  his  readiness  to  meet  you  fairly 
on  the  grounds  of  debate.  In  the  last  analysis,  it  is 
this  fundamental  sincerity  of  tone  and  this  all-perva- 
sive but  unobtrusive  self-assertion  that  preserve  New- 
man's style  from  the  undue  flexibility  and  the  insincer- 
ity of  the  debased  ecclesiastical  style,  just  as  his  un- 
failing good  taste  preserves  him  from  its  cheap  suavity 
or  unctuousness. 

But  the  adroitness  of  Newman's  methods  has  led  to 
still  more  serious  charges  than  those  of  Kingsley.  In 
a  general  examination  of  Newman's  theories,  Mr.  E.  A. 
Abbott '  has  accused  him  of  systematically  doctoring 
or  medicating  the  truth,  and  of  having  elaborated, 
though  perhaps  unconsciously,  various  ingenious  meth- 
ods for  inveigling  unsuspecting  readers  into  the  ac- 
ceptance of  doubtful  propositions.  For  these  methods 
Mr.  Abbott  has  devised  satirical  names,  the  Art  of 
Lubrication,  the  Art  of  Oscillation,  the  Art  of  Assimi- 
lation ;  he  does  not  assert  that  Newman  consciously 
palters  with  truth,  or  tries  to  make  the  worse  ap- 
pear the  better  reason.  But  he  urges  that  Newman 
was  constitutionally  fonder  of  other  things  than  of 

lPMomythus,  by  E.  A.  Abbott,  London,  1891. 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

truth,  that  he  desired,  with  an  overmastering  strength, 
to  establish  certain  conclusions,  and  that  he  persuaded 
himself  of  their  correctness  by  a  series  of  manoeuvres 
which  really  involved  insincere  logic. 

Of  the  details  of  Mr.  Abbott's  criticisms  this  is  not 
the  place  to  speak.  But  the  ultimate  cause  of  his  at- 
tack on  Newman  seems  once  more  to  be  temperamental 
hostility  rather  than  anything  else,  an  utter  inability  to 
comprehend,  or,  at  any  rate,  to  tolerate  Newman's 
mental  constitution  and  his  resulting  methods  of  con- 
ceiving of  life  and  relating  himself  to  its  facts.  Truth 
is  to  Newman  a  much  subtler  matter,  a  much  more 
elusive  substance,  than  it  is  to  the  Positivist,  to  the 
mere  intellectual  dealer  in  facts  and  in  figures ;  it  can- 
not be  packed  into  syllogisms  as  pills  are  packed  into 
a  box ;  it  cannot  be  conveyed  into  the  human  system 
with  the  simple  directness  which  the  Laputa  wiseacre 
aimed  at  who  was  for  teaching  his  pupils  geometry  by 
feeding  them  on  paper  duly  inscribed  with  geometrical 
figures.  Moreover,  language  is  an  infinitely  treacher- 
ous medium  ;  words  are  so  "  false,"  so  capable  of  end- 
less change,  that  he  is  "  loath  to  prove  reason  with 
them."  And  readers,  too,  are  widely  diverse,  and  are 
susceptible  to  countless  other  appeals  than  that  of 
sheer  logic.  For  all  these  reasons  it  is  doubtless  the 
case  that  Newman  is  constantly  studious  of  effect  in 
his  writings  ;  that  he  is  intensely  conscious  of  his 
audience  ;  and  that  he  is  always  striving  to  win  a  way 
for  his  convictions,  and  aiming  to  insinuate  them  into 
the  minds  and  hearts  of  his  hearers  by  gently  persuasive 
means. 

But  all  this  by  no  means  implies  any  real  careless- 


INTRODUCTION.  xiii 

ness  of  truth  on  Newman's  part,  or  any  sacrifice  of 
truth  to  expediency.  Truth  is  difficult  of  attain- 
ment, and  hard  to  transmit;  all  the  more  strenu- 
ously does  Newman  set  himself  to  trace  it  out  in  its 
•obscurity  and  remoteness,  and  to  reveal  it  in  all  its 
intricacies.  Moreover,  subtle  and  elusive  as  it  may 
be,  it  is  nevertheless  something  tangible  and  describ- 
able  and  defensible ;  something,  furthermore,  of  the 
acquisition  of  which  Newman  can  give  a  very  definite 
account ;  something  as  far  as  possible  from  mere 
misty  sentiment,  and  something,  furthermore,  to  be 
strenuously  asserted  and  defended. 

Now  a  fair-minded  reader  of  Newman  is  always 
conscious  of  the  essential  mental  integrity  of  his 
author,  of  his  courage  and  readiness  to  be  frank, 
even  in  those  passages  or  in  those  works  where  the 
search  for  the  subtlest  shades  of  truth  or  the  desire 
to  avoid  clashing  needlessly  on  prejudice,  or  the  wish 
to  win  a  favorable  hearing  takes  the  author  most  in- 
directly and  tortuously  toward  his  end.  It  is  this 
underlying  manliness  of  mind  and  frank  readiness  to 
give  an  account  of  himself  that  prevent  Newman's 
prevailing  subtlety,  adroitness,  and  suavity  from  leav- 
ing on  the  mind  of  an  unprejudiced  reader  any  impres- 
sion of  timorousness  or  disingenuousness. 


II. 

IN  what  has  been  said  of  Newman's  realization  of 
the  elusive  nature  of  truth  and  of  the  great  difficulty 
of  securing  a  welcome  for  it  in  the  minds  and  hearts. 


xiv  INTRO D  UC  TION. 

of  'the  mass  of  men  lies  the  key  to  what  is  most  dis- 
tinctive in  his  methods.  He  was  a  great  rhetorician, 
and  whatever  he  produced  shows  evidence  on  analysis 
of  having  been  constructed  with  the  utmost  niceness 
of  instinct  and  deftness  of  hand.  He  himself  frankly 
admitted  his  rhetorical  bent.  Writing  to  Hurrell 
Froude  in  1836,  about  the  management  of  the  Tracta- 
rian  agitation,  he  says  :  "  You  and  Keble  are  the  philos- 
ophers, and  I  the  rhetorician."  *  And  in  a  somewhat 
earlier  letter  he  speaks  of  his  aptitude  for  rhetoric  in 
even  stronger  terms  :  "  I  have  a  vivid  perception  of  the 
consequences  of  certain  admitted  principles,  have  a 
considerable  intellectual  capacity  of  drawing  them  out, 
have  the  refinement  to  admire  them,  and  a  rhetorical 
or  histrionic  power  to  represent  them." 2 

This  rhetorical  skill  was  partly  natural  and  instinc- 
tive, and  partly  the  result  of  training.  From  his 
earliest  years  as  a  student  Newman  had  been  con- 
spicuous for  the  subtlety  and  flexibility  of  his  intel- 
ligence, for  his  readiness  in  assuming  for  speculat- 
ive purposes  the  most  diverse  points  of  view,  and 
for  his  insight  into  temperaments  and  his  comprehen- 
sion of  their  modifying  action  on  the  white  light  of 
truth.  With  this  admirable  equipment  for  effective 
rhetorical  work,  he  came  directly  under  the  influence 
in  Oriel  College  of  two  exceptionally  great  rhetoricians, 
Dr.  Copleston,  for  many  years  Provost  of  Oriel,  and 
Whately,  one  of  its  most  influential  Fellows.  Cople- 
ston was  a  famous  controversialist  and  dialectician 
who  had  long  been  regarded  as  the  chief  champion  of 

1  Letters  and  Correspondence  ofj.  H.  Newman,  1891,  II.  156. 
« Ibid.t  I.  416. 


INTRO D  UC  TION.  xv 

the  University  against  the  attacks  of  outsiders.  His 
Advice  to  a  young  Reviewer  with  a  Specimen  of  the  Art, 
(1807),  had  turned  into  ridicule  the  airs  and  preten- 
sions of  the  young  Edinburgh  Reviewers  and  had  led 
them  into  severe  strictures  on  University  methods, 
against  which  attacks,  however,  Dr.  Copleston  had 
vigorously  defended  Oxford  in  various  publications  to 
the  satisfaction  of  all  University  men.  He  was  the 
Provost  of  Oriel  during  the  first  year  of  Newman's 
residence  there,  and  suggestions  of  the  influence  of 
his  ideas  and  methods  are  to  be  found  throughout 
the  early  pages  of  the  Apologia  and  the  Autobiograph- 
ical Memoir.  Still  more  decisive,  however,  was  the 
influence  of  a  yet  more  famous  rhetorician,  Dr. 
Whately,  whose  lectures  on  Logic  and  on  Rhetoric 
remained  almost  down  to  the  present  day  standard 
text-books  on  those  subjects.  Whately  was  also  re- 
nowned as  a  controversialist,  and  his  Historic  Doubts 
concerning  Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  perhaps  the  clever- 
est and  most  famous  piece  of  ironical  argumentation 
produced  in  England  during  the  first  quarter  of  the 
century.  Newman,  for  several  of  his  most  impression- 
able years,  was  intimately  associated  with  Whately. 
"  He  emphatically  opened  my  mind,"  Newman  says  in 
the  Apologia,  "  and  taught  me  to  think  and  to  use  my 
reason."  '  Under  the  influence  of  these  two  masters 
of  rhetoric  and  redoubtable  controversialists  Newman's 
natural  aptitude  for  rhetorical  methods  was  encouraged 
and  fostered,  so  that  he  became  a  perfect  adept  in  all 
the  arts  of  exposition  and  argumentation  and  persua- 
sion. 

1  Apologia,  p.  n. 


xvi  INTRODUCTION. 

Whatever  work  of  Newman's,  then,  we  take  up,  we 
may  be  sure  that  its  construction  will  repay  careful 
analysis.  In  trying  to  present  any  set  of  truths  New- 
man was  always  consciously  confronting  a  delicate 
psychological  problem ;  he  was  perfectly  aware  of 
the  elements  that  entered  into  the  problem  ;  he  knew 
what  special  difficulties  he  had  to  face  because  of 
the  special  nature  of  the  truth  he  was  dealing  with, — its 
abstractness,  or  its  complexity,  or  its  novelty.  He  had 
measured  also  the  precise  degree  of  resistance  he 
must  expect  because  of  the  peculiar  prejudices  or  pre- 
occupations of  his  readers.  And  the  shape  which  his 
discussion  finally  took, — the  particular  methods  that  he 
followed, — were  the  result  of  a  deliberate  adaptation 
of  means  to  ends  ;  they  were  the  methods  that  his 
trained  rhetorical  instinct  and  his  insight  into  the  truth 
he  was  handling  and  into  the  temperaments  and  in- 
telligences he  was  to  address  himself  to  dictated  as 
most  likely  to  persuade. 

Of  course,  ordinarily  Newman  does  not  explain  the 
method  he  follows  or  comment  on  the  difficulties  of 
his  problem.  In  the  Apologia,  however,  he  has  de- 
parted from  this  rule.  In  the  Preface  to  this  self- 
justificatory  piece  of  writing,  he  takes  his  readers  into 
his  confidence, — plainly  with  a  purpose, — sets  forth 
the  prejudices  against  which  he  must  make  his  way, 
considers  the  possibility  of  this  course  or  that  as 
likely  to  attain  his  end,  notes  the  precise  considera- 
tions that  ultimately  govern  his  choice,  and  is  explicit 
as  to  the  elaborate  plan  which  underlies  and  controls 
the  seeming  desultoriness  of  the  discussion. 

Newman's  account  of  the  problem  which  in  this  case 


INTRODUCTION.  xvii 

confronted  him  will  be  found  on  pages  69-82  of  the 
Selections.  Briefly,  he  had  been  charged  by  Kingsley 
with  teaching  "  lying  on  system."  He  had  protested 
vigorously  against  the  charge  and  had  obtained  a 
half-hearted  apology.  Later,  however,  the  charge  had 
been  reiterated  more  formally  and  with  the  added 
taunt  that  as  Newman  recommended  systematic  dis- 
simulation no  one  could  be  expected  to  accept  his  self- 
exculpating  word.  These  charges  fell  in  precisely,  as 
Newman  recognized,  first,  with  the  general  trend  of 
British  prejudice  against  Roman  Catholics,  and  secondly 
with  the  particular  prejudice  against  Newman  himself 
that  sprang  from  his  early  attempts  to  make  the  Angli- 
can Church  more  Catholic,  and  his  subsequent  seces- 
sion to  Rome.  How,  then,  was  Newman  to  persuade 
the  public  of  Kingsley's  injustice  and  his  own  inno- 
cence ?  He  saw  at  once  that  to  deal  with  each  sepa- 
rate charge  would  be  mere  waste  of  time ;  to  prove 
that  in  a  special  case  he  had  not  lied  or  recommended 
lying  would  carry  him  no  whit  toward  his  end,  as 
long  as  contemptuous  distrust  remained  the  dominant 
mood  of  the  British  mind  towards  himself  and  his 
party.  First  of  all,  he  must  conquer  this  mood  ;  he 
must  overthrow  the  presumption  against  him,  and 
win  for  his  cause  at  least  such  an  unbiassed  hearing  as 
is  accorded  to  the  ordinary  man  upon  trial  whose 
record  has  been  hitherto  clean  ;  then,  he  might  hope 
to  secure  for  his  particular  denials  a  universal  scope 
The  method  that  he  chose  in  order  to  win  his  readers 
was  admirably  conceived.  He  would  put  himselt 
vitally  and  almost  dramatically  before  them ;  he  would 
bring  them  within  the  actual  sound  of  his  voice  and 
2 


INTRODUCTION. 

the  glance  of  his  eye  ;  he  would  let  them  follow  him 
through  the  long  course  of  his  years  as  student,  tutor, 
preacher,  and  leader,  and  come  to  know  him  as  inti- 
mately as  those  few  friends  had  known  him  with  whom 
he  had  lived  most  freely.  Then,  he  would  ask  his 
readers,  when  he  had  put  his  personality  before  them 
in  its  many  shifting  but  continuous  aspects,  and  with 
all  the  intense  persuasiveness  of  a  dramatic  portrayal, 
whether  they  were  ready  to  believe  of  the  man  they 
had  thus  watched  through  the  round  of  his  duties  that 
he  was  a  liar.  Of  the  peculiar  power  which  Newman 
could  count  on  exerting  in  thus  appealing  to  his  per- 
sonal charm  he  was,  of  course,  unable  to  speak  in  his 
Preface.  In  truth,  however,  he  was  having  recourse  to 
an  influence  which  had  always  been  potent  whenever 
it  had  a  chance  to  make  itself  felt.  Throughout  his 
life  at  Oxford  it  was  true  of  his  relations  to  others  that 
"  friends  unasked,  unhoped  "  had  "  come," — all  men 
who  met  him  falling  almost  inevitably  under  the  sway 
of  his  winning  and  commanding  personality.  New- 
man was  therefore  well  advised  when  he  resolved 
to  reveal  himself  to  the  world  and  to  trust  to  the  con- 
ciliating effect  of  this  self-revelation  to  prepare  for  his 
specific  denial  of  Kingsley's  charges. 

In  accordance  with  this  purpose  and  plan,  the  Apol- 
ogia pro  Vita  Sua,  or  History  of  his  Religious  Opin- 
ions, was  written ;  and  for  these  reasons  his  answer  to 
certain  definite  charges  of  equivocation  and  systematic 
and  elaborate  misrepresentation  was  so  shaped  as  to 
include  in  its  scope  the  story  of  his  whole  life.  Of  the 
289  pages  of  the  Apologia,  only  the  last  15  pages  are 
devoted  to  the  actual  refutation  of  Kingsley's  charges ; 


INTRO  D  UC  TION.  xix 

the  preceding  274  pages  are  all  indirectly  persuasive, 
and  simply  prepare  the  way  for  the  final  defence. 
Probably  in  no  other  piece  of  writing  is  the  actual 
demonstration  so  curiously  small  in  proportion  to  the 
means  that  are  taken  to  make  the  logic  effective.  Of 
course,  it  may  be  urged  in  reply  to  this  view  of  the  con- 
struction of  the  Apologia,  that  to  look  at  the  book  as 
purely  a  reply  to  Kingsley,  is  to  judge  it  from  an  arbi- 
trary and  artificial  point  of  view,  and  hence  to  distort 
it  inevitably  and  throw  its  parts  out  of  proportion  ; 
that  the  real  aim  of  the  book  was  simply  and  sincerely 
autobiographic,  and  that  regarding  the  book  as  frank 
autobiography,  the  critic  need  find  nothing  strange  in 
the  proportioning  of  its  parts.  In  answer  to  this  ob- 
jection, it  should  be  noted  that  the  last  few  pages  of 
the  book  deal  directly  and  argumentatively  with  the 
Kingsley  episode,  and  thus  point  the  purpose  with 
which  all  that  precedes  has  been  written  ;  and  that 
Newman  himself  has  declared  in  his  Preface  that  the 
sole  reason  for  his  self-revelations  is  his  wish  to  clear 
away  misconceptions,  to  win  once  again  the  confidence 
of  that  English  public  that  had  long  been  distrustful  of 
him,  and  to  make  widely  effective  his  refutation  of 
Kingsley's  charges.  The  book,  then,  is  fairly  to  be  de- 
scribed as  an  enormously  elaborate  and  ingenious  piece 
of  special  pleading  to  prepare  the  way  for  a  few  syllo- 
gisms that  have  now  become  grotesquely  insignificant. 
It  has  been  worth  while  to  lay  great  stress  on  this 
disproportion  between  persuasion  and  demonstration 
in  the  Apologia,  because  this  disproportion  illustrates, 
with  almost  the  over-emphasis  of  caricature,  certain 
of  Newman's  fundamental  beliefs  and  resulting  tricks 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

of  method.  First  and  foremost,  it  illustrates  the  slight 
esteem  in  which  he  held  the  formal  logic  of  the 
schools  and  syllogistic  demonstrations.  Not  that  he 
failed  to  recognize  the  value  of  analysis  and  logical 
demonstration  as  verifying  processes  ;  but  he  unhesi- 
tatingly subordinated  these  processes  to  those  by  which 
truth  is  originally  won,  and  to  those  also  by  which 
truth  is  persuasively  inculcated. 

In  a  sermon  on  Implicit  and  Explicit  Reason,  he  dis- 
tinguishes with  great  elaborateness  between  the  method 
by  which  the  mind  makes  its  way  almost  intuitively  to 
the  possession  of  a  new  truth  or  set  of  truths,  and  the 
subsequent  analysis  by  which  it  takes  account  of  this 
half-instinctive  original  process  and  renders  the  mo- 
ments of  the  process  self-conscious  and  articulate. 
His  description  of  the  intellect  delicately  and  swiftly 
feeling  its  way  toward  truth,  may  well  be  quoted  entire  : 
"The  mind  ranges  to  and  fro,  and  spreads  out  and 
advances  forward  with  a  quickness  which  has  become 
a  proverb,  and  a  subtlety  and  versatility  which  baffle 
investigation.  It  passes  on  from  point  to  point,  gain- 
ing one  by  some  indication  ;  another  on  a  probability  ; 
then  availing  itself  of  an  association  ;  then  falling  back 
on  some  received  law ;  next  seizing  on  testimony ; 
then  committing  itself  to  some  popular  impression,  or 
some  inward  instinct,  or  some  obscure  memory ;  and 
thus  it  makes  progress  not  unlike  a  clamberer  on  a 
steep  cliff,  who,  by  quick  eye,  prompt  hand,  and  firm 
foot,  ascends,  how  he  knows  not  himself,  by  personal 
endowments  and  by  practice,  rather  than  by  rule,  leav- 
ing no  track  behind  him,  and  unable  to  teach  another. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  stepping  by  which  great 


INTRODUCTION.  xxi 

geniuses  scale  the  mountain  of  truth  is  as  unsafe  and 
precarious  to  men  in  general  as  the  ascent  of  a  skilful 
mountaineer  up  a  literal  crag.  It  is  a  way  which  they 
alone  can  take  ;  and  its  justification  lies  alone  in  their 
success.  And  such  mainly  is  the  way  in  which  all  men, 
gifted  or  not  gifted,  commonly  reason — not  by  rule,  but 
by  an  inward  faculty.  Reasoning,  then,  or  the  exer- 
cise of  reason,  is  a  living,  spontaneous  energy  within 
us,  not  an  art."  x 

But  not  only  is  syllogistic  reasoning  not  the  original 
process  by  which  truth  is  attained ;  it  is  in  no  way 
essential  to  the  validity  or  completeness  of  the  pro- 
cess. "  Clearness  in  argument  certainly  is  not  indis- 
pensable to  reasoning  well.  Accuracy  in  stating  doc- 
trines or  principles  is  not  essential  to  feeling  and 
acting  upon  them.  The  exercise  of  analysis  is  not 
necessary  to  the  integrity  of  the  process  analyzed. 
The  process  of  reasoning  is  complete  in  itself,  and 
independent."  2 

Finally,  logical  demonstration  has  relatively  little 
value  as  a  means  of  winning  a  hearing  for  new  truth, 
of  securing  its  entrance  into  the  popular  consciousness, 
and  of  giving  it  a  place  among  the  determining  powers 
of  life.  "  Logic  makes  but  a  sorry  rhetoric  with  the 
multitude;  first  shoot  round  corners,  and  you  may 
not  despair  of  converting  by  a  syllogism. "3  Men 
must  be  inveigled  into  the  acceptance  of  truth  ;  they 
cannot  be  driven  to  accept  it  at  the  point  of  the  syllo- 
gism. "  The  heart  is  commonly  reached,  not  through 

1  Oxford  University  Sermons,  ed.  1887,  p.  257. 
8  Ibid.,  ed.  1887,  p.  259. 
3  Selections,  p.  97. 


Xxii  INTRODUCTION. 

the  reason,  but  through  the  imagination,  by  means  of 
direct  impressions,  by  the  testimony  of  facts  and 
events,  by  history,  by  description.  Persons  influence 
us,  voices  melt  us,  looks  subdue  us,  deeds  inflame 
us." ' 

The  application  of  all  this, — particularly  of  what 
Newman  says  touching  the  persuasiveness  of  a  personal 
appeal, — to  the  whole  method  of  the  Apologia,  hardly 
needs  pointing  out.  The  work  is,  from  first  to  last, 
intensely  personal  in  its  tone  and  matter,  pursuasive 
because  of  its  concreteness,  its  dramatic  vividness,  the 
modulations  of  the  speaker's  voice,  the  sincerity  and 
dignity  of  his  look  and  bearing.  Logic,  of  course, 
gives  coherence  to  the  discussions.  The  processes  of 
thought  by  which  Newman  moved  from  point  to  point 
in  his  theological  development,  are  consistently  set 
forth ;  but  the  convincing  quality  of  the  book  comes 
from  its  embodiment  of  a  life,  not  from  its  systemat- 
ization  of  a  theory. 

In  accordance  with  this  general  character  of  the 
book  is  its  tone  throughout ;  its  style  is  the  perfection 
of  informality  and  easy  colloquialism.  Now  and  then,  in 
describing  his  ideas  on  specially  complicated  questions, 
Newman  makes  use  of  numbered  propositions,  and 
proceeds  for  the  time  being  with  the  precaution  and 
precision  of  the  dialectician.  But  for  the  most  part  he 
is  as  unconstrained  and  apparently  fortuitous  in  his 
presentation  of  ideas  as  if  he  were  merely  emulating 
Montaigne  in  confidential  self-revelation,  and  had  no 
ulterior  controversial  purpose  in  view.  Perhaps  no 

1  Selections,  p.  96. 


INTRO D  UC  TION:  xxiii 

writer  has  surpassed,  or  even  equalled,  Newman  in 
combining  apparent  desultoriness  of  treatment  with 
real  definiteness  of  purpose  and  clairvoyance  of 
method. 


III. 

ANOTHER  admirable  example  of  Newman's  least 
formal,  and  perhaps  most  characteristic  method,  may 
be  found  in  his  series  of  papers  on  the  Rise  and  Pro- 
gress of  Universities.  Here  again  there  is  apparent- 
desultoriness,  or  at  most  a  careless  following  of  histori- 
cal sequence.  One  after  another,  with  what  seems  like 
a  hap-hazard  choice,  Newman  describes  a  half-dozen  of 
the  most  famous  Universities  of  the  past,  explains  pop- 
ularly their  organization,  methods,  and  aims,  entertain- 
ing the  reader  meanwhile  with  such  superlative  pieces 
of  rhetoric  as  the  description  of  Attica  and  Athens 
(Selections,  p.  3)  and  with  such  dramatic  episodes  as 
that  of  Abelard.  Yet  underneath  this  apparent  caprice 
runs  the  controlling  purpose  of  putting  the  reader  in 
possession,  through  concrete  illustrations,  of  the  com- 
plete idea  of  a  typically  effective  University.  Each 
special  school  that  Newman  describes  illustrates  some 
essential  attribute  of  the  ideal  school ;  and  incidentally, 
as  it  were,  the  reader  who  is  all  the  time  beguiled, 
from  chapter  to  chapter,  by  Newman's  picturesque 
detail,  takes  into  his  mind  the  various  features,  and 
ultimately  the  complete  image,  of  the  perfect  type. 

In  the  series  of  Discourses  on  the  Idea  of  a  Univer- 
sity Newman's  method  is  more  formal  and  his  tone 


INTRODUCTION; 

more  controversial.  The  purpose  of  the  Discourses  will 
be  found  explained  in  the  Notes  of  the  present  volume 
p.  198.  Newman  was  addressing  a  distinctly  scholarly 
audience,  and  was  treating  of  a  series  of  abstract 
topics,  on  which  he  was  called  to  pronounce  in  his 
character  of  probable  vice-chancellor  of  the  proposed 
University.  Accordingly,  throughout  these  Discourses 
he  is  consistently  academic  in  tone  and  manner  and 
formal  and  elaborate  in  method.  He  lays  out  his 
work  with  somewhat  mechanical  precision  ;  he  sketches 
his  plan  strictly  beforehand ;  he  defines  terms  and  re- 
fines upon  possible  meanings,  and  guards  at  each  step 
against  misinterpretations ;  he  pauses  often  to  come  to 
an  understanding  with  his  hearers  about  the  progress 
already  made,  and  to  consider  what  line  of  advance 
severe  logical  method  next  dictates.  In  all  these  ways  he 
is  deliberate,  explicit,  and  demonstrative.  Yet  despite 
this  strenuous  regard  for  system  and  method,  not  even 
here  does  Newman  become  crabbedly  scholastic  or 
pedantically  over-formal ;  the  result  of  his  strenuous- 
ness  is,  rather,  a  finely  conscientious  circumspection  of 
demeanor  and  an  academic  dignity  of  bearing.  There 
is  something  irresistibly  impressive  in  the  perfect  poise 
with  which  he  moves  through  the  intricacies  of  the 
many  abstractions  that  his  subject  involves.  He  ex- 
hibits each  aspect  of  his  subject  in  just  the  right  per- 
spective and  with  just  the  requisite  minuteness  of  de- 
tail ;  he  leads  us  unerringly  from  each  point  of  view  to 
that  which  most  naturally  follows  ;  he  keeps  us  always 
aware  of  the  relation  of  each  aspect  to  the  total  sum 
of  truth  he  is  trying  to  help  us  to  grasp  ;  and  so,  little 
by  little,  he  secures  for  us  that  perfect  command  of  an 


INTRODUCTION.  xxV 

intellectual  region,  in  its  concrete  facts  and  in  its 
abstract  relations,  which  exposition  aims  to  make 
possible.  These  Discourses  are  as  fine  an  example  as 
exists  in  English  of  the  union  of  strict  method  with 
charm  of  style  in  the  treatment  of  an  abstract  topic. 

In  the  Development  of  Christian  Doctrine  and  the 
Grammar  of  Assent  the  severity  of  Newman's  method 
is  somewhat  greater,  as  is  but  natural  in  strictly  scien- 
tific treatises.  Yet  even  in  these  abstract  discussions 
his  style  retains  an  inalienable  charm  due  to  the 
luminousness  of  the  atmosphere,  the  wide-ranging  com- 
mand of  illustrations,  the  unobtrusively  tropical  phras- 
ing, and  the  steady  harmonious  sweep  of  the  periods. 
Few  books  on  equally  abstract  topics  are  as  easy 
reading. 

While  Newman's  method  is  under  consideration  a 
word  or  two  about  his  Present  Position  of  Catholics 
will  be  in  place.  The  book  is  controversial  through- 
out, and  contains  some  of  Newman's  most  ingenious 
and  caustic  irony.  But  it  is  specially  interesting  be- 
cause it  illustrates  once  more  his  consummate  skill  in 
adapting  his  method  to  the  matter  in  hand.  His  pur- 
pose in  this  case  is  to  right  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  with  the  English  nation,  to  exhibit  the  Roman- 
ists as  he  knows  them  really  to  be,  a  conscientious, 
honorable,  patriotic  body  of  men,  and  to  put  an  end 
once  for  all,  if  possible,  to  the  long  tradition  of  cal- 
umny that  has  persecuted  them.  Such  is  his  problem. 
He  sets  about  its  solution  characteristically.  He  does 
not  undertake  to  demonstrate  the  truth  of  Roman  doc- 
trines, or  by  direct  evidence  and  argument  to  refute 
the  wild  charges  of  hypocrisy  and  corruption  which 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

Protestants  are  habitually  making  against  Romanists. 
His  methods  are  much  subtler  than  these  and  also 
much  more  comprehensive  and  final.  He  sets  himself 
to  analyse  Protestant  prejudice,  and  to  destroy  it  by  re- 
solving it  into  its  elements.  He  takes  it  up  historically, 
and  exhibits  its  origin  in  an  atmosphere  of  intense  par- 
tisan conflict,  and  its  development  in  the  midst  of  pecu- 
liarly favorable  intellectual  and  moral  conditions  ;  he 
shows  that  it  is  political  in  its  origin  and  has  been  in- 
wrought into  the  very  fibre  of  English  national  life  : — 
"  English  Protestantism  is  the  religion  of  the  throne  :  it 
is  represented,  realized,  taught,  transmitted  in  the  suc- 
cession of  monarchs  and  an  hereditary  aristocracy.  It 
is  religion  grafted  upon  loyalty ;  and  its  strength  is  not 
in  argument,  not  in  fact,  not  in  the  unanswerable  con- 
troversialist, not  in  an  apostolical  succession,  not  in 
sanction  of  Scripture — but  in  a  royal  road  to  faith,  in 
backing  up  a  King  whom  men  see,  against  a  Pope 
whom  they  do  not  see.  The  devolution  of  its  crown  is 
the  tradition  of  its  creed  ;  and  to  doubt  its  truth  is  to  be 
disloyal  towards  its  Sovereign.  Kings  are  English- 
men's saints  and  doctors ;  he  likes  somebody  or  some- 
thing at  which  he  can  cry,  '  huzzah,'  and  throw  up  his 
hat." ' 

To  hate  a  Romanist,  then,  is  as  natural  for  John 
Bull  as  to  hate  a  Frenchman,  and  to  libel  him  is  a 
matter  of  patriotism.  The  Englishman's  romantic 
imagination  has  for  generations  long  been  spinning 
myths  of  Catholic  misdoing  to  satisfy  these  deep  in- 
stinctive animosities.  Moreover,  besides  loyalty  and 

1  Selections,  p.  62. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxvn 

patriotism,  many  other  typical  English  qualities  have 
contributed  to  foster  and  develop  this  Protestant  preju- 
dice. Such  are  the  controlling  practical  interests  of 
the  English,  their  content  with  compromise-working 
schemes,  and  their  contempt  for  abstractions  and 
subtleties ;  their  shuddering  dislike  of  innovation ; 
their  well-meaning  obstinacy  in  ignorance,  and  their 
heroic  adherence  to  familiar  though  undeniable  error  ; 
their  insularity ;  their  hatred  of  foreigners  in  general, 
and  their  frenzied  fear  of  the  Pope  in  particular. 
With  unfailing  adroitness  of  suggestion,  Newman 
makes  clear  how  these  national  traits,  and  many 
others  closely  related  to  them,  have  co-operated  to 
originate  and  develop  Protestant  hatred  of  Roman 
Catholicism.  His  mastery  of  the  details  of  social  life 
and  of  motives  of  action  is  in  this  discussion  of  English 
history  and  contemporary  life  specially  conspicuous. 
Every  phase  of  peculiarly  English  thought  and  feeling 
is  present  to  him ;  every  intricacy  of  the  curiously 
subterranean  British  national  temperament  is  traced 
out.  And  the  result  is  that  prejudice  is  explained 
out  of  existence.  The  intense  hostility  that  seems  so 
primitive  an  instinct  as  to  justify  itself  like  the  belief 
in  God  or  in  an  outer  world,  is  resolved  into  the  ex- 
pression of  a  vast  mass  of  petty  and  often  discredit- 
able instincts,  and  so  loses  all  its  validity  in  losing 
its  apparent  primitiveness  and  mystery. 

Such  is  the  general  plan  and  scope  of  Newman's  at- 
tack on  Protestant  prejudice ;  in  carrying  out  the  plan 
and  making  his  attack  brilliantly  effective,  he  shows 
inexhaustible  ingenuity  and  unwearied  invention.  He 
uses  fables,  allegories,  and  elaborate  pieces  of  irony ; 


xx  viii  iNTKOb  UC  TfOM 

he  develops  an  unending  series  of  picturesque  illustra- 
tions of  Protestant  prejudice,  drawn  from  all  sources, 
past  and  present ;  he  sets  curious  traps  for  this  preju- 
dice, catches  it  at  unawares  and  shows  it  up  to  his  read- 
ers in  guises  they  can  hardly  defend  ;  he  plays  skilfully 
upon  the  instincts  that  lie  at  its  root,  and  by  clever 
manipulation  makes  them  declare  themselves  in  a 
twinkling  in  favor  of  some  aspect  of  Romanism.  In 
short,  he  uses  all  the  rhetorical  devices  of  which  he  is 
master  to  win  a  hearing  from  the  half-hostile,  to  beguile 
the  unwilling,  to  amuse  the  half-captious,  and  finally  to 
insinuate  into  the  minds  of  his  readers  an  all-permeat- 
ing mood  of  contempt  for  Protestant  narrowness  and 
bigotry,  and  of  open-minded  appreciation  of  the  merits 
of  Roman  Catholics. 


IV. 


FOR  still  another  reason  the  lectures  on  the  Present 
Position  of  Catholics  are  specially  interesting  to  a 
student  of  Newman's  methods ;  they  illustrate  excep- 
tionally well  his  skill  in  the  use  of  irony.  To  the  gen- 
uine rhetorician  there  is  something  specially  attractive 
in  the  duplicity  of  irony,  because  of  the  opportunity  it 
offers  him  of  playing  with  points  of  view,  of  juggling 
with  phrases,  of  showing  his  virtuosity  in  the  manipu- 
lation of  both  thoughts  and  words.  Newman  was  too 
much  of  a  rhetorician  not  to  feel  this  fascination. 
Moreover,  he  had  learned  from  his  study  of  Copleston 
and  Whately  the  possibilities  of  irony  as  a  con  trover- 


INTRO  D  UC  TION.  xxix 

sial  weapon.  Copleston's  Advice  to  a  Young  Reviewer^ 
and  Whately's  Historic  Doubts  Concerning  Napoleon 
Buonaparte  were  typical  specimens  of  academic  irony, 
where  with  impressive  dignity  and  suavity  and  the 
most  plausible  simplicity  and  candor  the  writers,  while 
seemingly  advocating  a  certain  policy  or  theory  or  set 
of  conclusions,  were  really  sneering  throughout  at  a 
somewhat  similar  policy  or  theory — that  of  their  op- 
ponents— and  laying  it  open  helplessly  to  ridicule. 

One  of  the  most  noteworthy  characteristics  of  New- 
man's irony — and  in  this  point  his  irony  resembled 
that  of  his  masters — was  its  positive  argumentative 
value.  Often  an  elaborate  piece  of  irony  is  chiefly  de- 
structive ;  it  turns  cleverly  into  ridicule  the  general  at- 
titude of  mind  of  the  writer's  opponents,  but  makes  no 
attempt  to  supply  a  substitute  for  the  faith  it  destroys. 
Swift's  irony,  for  example,  is  usually  of  this  character. 
It  is  intensely  ill-natured  and  savage,  and  so  extrava- 
gant that  it  sometimes  defeats  its  own  end  as  argu- 
ment. Its  hauteur  and  bitterness  produce  a  reaction 
in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  and  force  him  to  distrust 
the  judgment  and  sanity  of  a  man  who  can  be  so  in- 
veterately  and  fiercely  insolent.  Its  indictment  is  so 
sweeping  and  its  mood  so  cynical,  that  the  reader, 
though  he  is  bullied  out  of  any  regard  for  the  ideas 
that  Swift  attacks,  is  repelled  from  Swift  himself,  and 
made  to  hate  his  notions  as  much  as  he  despises  those 
of  Swift's  opponents.  Moreover,  full  of  duplicity  and 
-'nnuendo  as  it  is,  its  innuendoes  often  are  merely  dis- 
guised sneers,  and  not  suggestions  of  genuinely  valid 
reasons  why  the  opinions  or  prejudices  which  the 
writer  is  assailing  should  be  abandoned.  In  the  Mod- 


XXX  INTRODUCTION. 

est  Proposal  and  the  Argument  against  Abolishing 
Christianity,  for  example,  the  irony  reduces  to  one  long 
sneer  at  the  prejudice,  the  selfishness,  and  the  cruelty 
of  Yahoo  human  nature ;  there  is  very  little  positive 
argument  in  behalf  of  the  oppressed  Irish  on  the  one 
hand,  or  in  favor  of  Christianity  on  the  other. 

Newman's  irony,  on  the  contrary,  is  always  subtle, 
intellectual,  and  suggestive.  It  is  positive  in  its  in- 
sinuation of  actual  reasons  for  abandoning  prejudice 
against  Romanists;  it  is  tirelessly  adroit,  and  adjusts 
itself  delicately  to  every  part  of  the  opposing  argument ; 
it  is  suggestive  of  new  ideas,  and  not  only  makes  the 
reader  see  the  absurdity  of  some  time-worn  prejudice, 
but  hints  at  its  explanation  and  insinuates  a  new  opin- 
ion to  take  its  place.  In  tone,  too,  it  is  very  different 
from  Swift's  irony  ;  it  is  not  enraged  and  blindly  savage, 
but  more  like  the  best  French  irony — self-possessed, 
suave,  and  insinuating.  Newman  addresses  himself 
with  unfailing  skill  to  the  prejudices  of  those  whom 
he  is  trying  to  move,  and  carries  his  readers  with  him 
in  a  way  that  Swift  was  too  contemptuous  to  aim  at. 
Newman's  irony  wins  the  wavering,  while  it  routs  the 
hostile.  This  is  the  double  task  that  it  always  pro- 
poses to  itself. 

An  example  of  his  irony  at  its  best  maybe  found  in 
the  amusing  piece  of  declamation  against  the  British 
Constitution  and  John  Bullism  which  Newman  puts  into 
the  mouth  of  a  Russian  Count.  The  passage  occurs  in 
a  lecture  on  the  Present  Position  of  Catholics,  which 
was  delivered  just  before  the  war  with  Russia,  when 
English  jealousy  of  Russia  and  contempt  for  Russian 
prejudice  and  ignorance  were  most  intense.  It  was,  of 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxi 

course,  on  these  feelings  of  jealousy  and  contempt  that 
Newman  skilfully  played  when  he  represented  the  Rus- 
sian Count  as  grotesquely  misinterpreting  the  British 
Constitution  and  BlackstonJs  Commentaries,  and  as 
charging  them  with  irreligion  and  blasphemy.  His 
satirical  portrayal  of  the  Russian  and  the  clever  mani- 
pulation by  which  he  forces  the  Count  to  exhibit  all  hi* 
stores  of  ungentle  dullness  and  all  his  stock  of  malig 
nant  prejudice  delighted  every  ordinary  British  reader, 
and  threw  him  into  a  pleasant  glow  of  self-satisfaction, 
and  of  sympathy  with  the  author ;  now  this  was  the  very 
mood,  as  Newman  was  well  aware,  in  which,  if  ever, 
the  anti-Catholic  reader  might  be  led  to  question  with 
himself  whether  after  all  he  was  perfectly  informed 
about  Roman  Catholicism,  or  whether  he  did  not,  like 
the  Russian  Count,  take  most  of  his  knowledge  at 
second-hand  and  inherit  most  of  his  prejudice. 
Throughout  this  passage  the  ingenuity  is  conspicuous 
with  which  Newman  makes  use  of  English  dislike  of 
Russia  and  blind  loyalty  to  Queen  and  Constitution  ; 
the  passage  everywhere  exemplifies  the  adroitness,  the 
flexibility,  the  persuasiveness,  and  the  far-reaching 
calculation  of  Newman's  irony. 

Indeed,  this  elaborateness  and  self-consciousness, 
and  deliberateness  of  aim,  are  perhaps,  at  times,  limi- 
tations on  the  success  of  his  irony;  it  is  a  bit  too 
cleverly  planned  and  a  trifle  over-elaborate.  In  these 
respects  it  contrasts  disadvantageously  with  French 
irony,  which  at  its  best,  is  so  delightfully  by  the  way, 
so  airily  unexpected,  so  accidental,  and  yet  so  dex- 
trously  fatal.  It  would  be  an  instructive  study  in 
literary  method  to  compare  Newman's  ironical  defence 


xxxii  INTRODUCTION: 

of  Roman  Catholicism  in  the  passage  already  referred 
to  with  Montesquieu's  ironical  attack  upon  the  same 
system  in  the  Lettres  Persanes. 


V. 

WHEN  we  turn  from  Newman's  methods  to  his 
style  in  the  narrower  meaning  of  the  term,  we  still  find 
careful  elaboration  and  ingenious  calculation  of  effect, 
although  here  again  the  conscientious  workmanship 
becomes  evident  only  on  reflection,  and  the  general 
impression  is  that  of  easy  and  instinctive  mastery. 
Nevertheless,  Newman  wrought  out  all  that  he  wrote, 
with  much  patient  recasting  and  revising.  "  It  is 
simply  the  fact,"  he  tells  a  friend  in  one  of  his  letters, 
"that  I  have  been  obliged  to  take  great  pains  with 
everything  I  have  written,  and  I  often  write  chapters 
over  and  over  again,  besides  innumerable  corrections 

and  interlinear  additions I  think  I  have  never 

written  for  writing's  sake  ;  but  my  one  and  single  desire 
and  aim  has  been  to  do  what  is  so  difficult — viz.,  to 
express  clearly  and  exactly  my  meaning  ;  this  has  been 
the  motive  principle  of  all  my  corrections  and  re- 
writings."  * 

It  is  perhaps  this  sincerity  of  aim  and  this  sacrifice 
of  the  decorative  impulse  in  the  strenuous  search  for 
adequacy  of  expression  that  keep  out  of  Newman's 
writing  every  trace  of  artificiality.  Sophisticated  as  is 

1  Letters,  II.  476. 


INTROD  UC  TION.  xxxiii 

his  style  it  is  never  mannered.  There  is  no  pretence,  no 
flourish,  no  exhibition  of  rhetorical  resources  for  their 
own  sake.  The  most  impressive  and  the  most  richly 
imaginative  passages  in  his  prose  come  in  because  he 
•is  betrayed  into  them  in  his  conscientious  pursuit  of  all 
the  aspects  of  the  truth  he  is  illustrating.  Moreover, 
they  are  curiously  congruous  in  tone  with  the  most 
colloquial  parts  of  his  writing.  There  is  no  sudden 
jar  perceptible  when  in  the  midst  of  his  ordinary  dis- 
course, one  chances  upon  these  passages  of  essential 
beauty ;  perfect  continuity  of  texture  is  characteristic 
of  his  work.  This  perfect  continuity  of  texture  illus- 
trates both  the  all-pervasive  fineness  and  nobleness 
of  Newman's  temper  which  constantly  holds  the  ele- 
ments of  moral  and  spiritual  beauty  in  solution,  and 
which  imprints  a  certain  distinction  upon  even  the  com- 
monplace, and  also  the  flexibility  and  elasticity  of  his 
style,  which  enables  him  with  such  perfect  gradation  of 
effect  to  change  imperceptibly  from  the  lofty  to  the 
common.  At  least,  two  admirable  examples  of  this  ex- 
quisite gradation  of  values  or  of  this  continuity  of  tex- 
ture will  be  found  in  the  Selections, — one  in  the  descrip- 
tion of  Athens,  pages  1-7,  the  other  in  the  passage  on 
Theology,  pages  106-113.  ^n  tne  former  passage  a 
style  almost  easily  colloquial  is  made  subservient  to  the 
production  of  really  gorgeous  descriptive  effects  ;  yet 
despite  the  splendor  of  the  scene  that  Newman  calls 
up  in  the  paragraphs  on  pages  4-7,  there  is  no  jar 
when  he  returns  suddenly  to  simple  exposition.  Sim- 
ilarly, in  the  passage  on  Theology,  the  change  from  a 
scientific  explanation  of  the  duties  of  the  theologian  to 
the  almost  impassioned  eloquence  of  the  ascription  of 


xxxiv  INTRODUCTION: 

goodness  and  might  to  the  Deity  is  effected  with  no 
shock  or  sense  of  discontinuity. 

In  its  freedom  from  artificiality  and  in  it  sperfect  sin- 
cerity, Newman's  style  contrasts  noticeably  with  the 
style  of  a  great  rhetorician  from  whom  he  nevertheless 
took  many  hints — De  Quincey.  Of  his  careful  study 
of  De  Quincey's  style  there  can  be  no  question.  In 
the  passage  on  the  Deity,  pages  109-111,  to  which 
reference  has  just  been  made,  there  are  unmistakable 
reminiscences  of  De  Quincey  in  the  iteration  of  em- 
phasis on  an  important  word,  in  the  frequent  use  of 
inversions,  in  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  periods,  and  in- 
deed in  the  subtle  rhythmic  effects  throughout.  The 
piece  of  writing,  however,  where  the  likeness  to  De 
Quincey  and  the  imitation  of  his  manner  and  music 
are  most  obtrusive,  is  the  sermon  on  the  Fitness  of  the 
Glories  of  Mary, — that  piece  of  Newman's  prose,  it 
should  be  noted,  which  is  least  defensible  against  the 
charge  of  artificiality  and  undue  ornateness.  A  pas- 
sage near  the  close  of  the  sermon  best  illustrates  the 
points  in  question :  "  And  therefore  she  died  in  pri- 
vate. It  became  Him,  who  died  for  the  world,  to  die 
in  the  world's  sight ;  it  became  the  Great  Sacrifice  to 
be  lifted  up  on  high,  as  a  light  that  could  not  be  hid. 
But  she,  the  Lily  of  Eden,  who  had  always  dwelt  out 
of  the  sight  of  man,  fittingly  did  she  die  in  the  garden's 
shade,  and  amid  the  sweet  flowers  in  which  she  had 
lived.  Her  departure  made  no  noise  in  the  world. 
The  Church  went  about  her  common  duties,  preach- 
ing, converting,  suffering.  There  were  persecutions, 
there  was  fleeing  from  place  to  place,  there  were 
martyrs,  there  were  triumphs.  At  length  the  rumour 


•    •' 

f  V  NJA^*>W~-- ~" \S  *-s\s\s 

I  °^' 

INTRO  D  UC  TION.  XXXV 

spread  abroad  that  the  Mother  of  God  was  no  longer 
upon  earth.  Pilgrims  went  to  and  fro ;  they  sought 
for  her  relics,  but  they  found  them  not ;  did  she  die  at 
Ephesus  ?  or  did  she  die  at  Jerusalem  ?  reports  varied  ; 
but  her  tomb  could  not  be  pointed  out,  or  if  it  was 
found,  it  was  open ;  and  instead  of  her  pure  and  fra- 
grant body,  there  was  a  growth  of  lilies  from  the  earth 
which  she  had  touched.  So  inquirers  went  home  mar- 
velling, and  waiting  for  further  light."  l 

Though  the  cadences  of  Newman's  prose  are  rarely 
as  marked  as  here,  a  subtle  musical  beauty  runs  elu- 
sively  through  it  all.  Not  that  there  is  any  of  the  sing- 
song of  pseudo-poetic  prose.  The  cadences  are  always 
wide-ranging  and  delicately  shifting,  with  none  of  the 
halting  iteration  and  feeble  sameness  of  half-metrical 
work.  Moreover,  the  rhythms,  subtly  pervasive  as  they 
are,  and  even  symbolic  of  the  mood  of  the  passage  as  they 
often  prove  to  be,  never  compel  direct  recognition,  but 
act  merely  as  a  mass  of  undistinguished  under-and 
over-tones  like  those  which  give  to  a  human  voice  depth 
and  tenderness  and  suggestiveness. 

Newman  understood  perfectly  the  symbolic  value  of 
rhythm  and  the  possibility  of  imposing  upon  a  series 
of  simple  words,  by  delicately  sensitive  adjustment,  a 
power  over  the  feelings  and  the  imagination  like  that 
of  an  incantation.  Several  of  the  passages  already 
quoted  or  referred  to  illustrate  his  instinctive  adapta- 
tion of  cadence  to  meaning  and  tone ;  another  remark- 
able passage  of  this  kind  is  that  on  p.  161  of  the 
Selections  which  describes  the  apparent  moral  chaos  in 

1  Discourses  to  Mixed  Congregations,  ed.  1892,  p.  373. 


xxxvi  INTRODUCTION, 

human  history.  For  subtlety  of  modulation,  however, 
and  symbolic  suggestiveness,  perhaps  the  tender  leave- 
taking  with  which  the  Apologia  closes  is  the  most 
beautiful  piece  of  prose  that  Newman  has  written  : 
"  I  have  closed  this  history  of  myself  with  St.  Philip's 
name  upon  St.  Philip's  feast-day  ;  and  having  done  so, 
to  whom  can  I  more  suitably  offer  it,  as  a  memorial  of 
affection  and  gratitude,  than  to  St.  Philip's  sons,  my 
dearest  brothers  of  this  House,  the  Priests  of  the  Birming- 
ham Oratory,  AMBROSE  ST.  JOHN,  HENRY  AUSTIN 
MILLS,  HENRY  BITTLESTON,  EDWARD  CASWALL,  WILL- 
IAM PAINE  NEVILLE,  and  HENRY  IGNATIUS  DUDLEY 
RIDER,  who  have  been  so  faithful  to  me ;  who  have 
been  so  sensitive  of  my  needs  ;  who  have  been  so  indul- 
gent to  my  failings ;  who  have  carried  me  through  so 
many  trials  ;  who  have  grudged  no  sacrifice,  if  I  have 
asked  for  it ;  who  have  been  so  cheerful  under  discour- 
agements of  my  causing  ;  who  have  done  so  many  good 
works,  and  let  me  have  the  credit  of  them  ; — with  whom 
I  have  lived  so  long,  with  whom  I  hope  to  die. 

"  And  to  you  especially,  dear  AMBROSE  ST.  JOHN 
whom  God  gave  me,  when  He  took  every  one  else 
away;  who  are  the  link  between  my  old  life  and  my 
new  ;  who  have  now  for  twenty-one  years  been  so  de- 
voted to  me,  so  patient,  so  zealous,  so  tender ;  who 
have  let  me  lean  so  hard  upon  you  ;  who  have  watched 
me  so  narrowly ;  who  have  never  thought  of  yourself, 
if  I  was  in  question. 

"  And  in  you  I  gather  up  and  bear  in  memory  those 
familiar  affectionate  companions  and  counsellors,  who 
in  Oxford  were  given  to  me,  one  after  another,  to  be 
my  daily  solace  and  relief;  and  all  those  others,  of 


INTRODUCTION.  Xxxvii 

great  name  and  high  example,  who  were  my  thorough 
friends,  and  showed  me  true  attachment  in  times  long 
past ;  and  also  those  many  younger  men,  whether  I 
knew  them  or  hot,  who  have  never  been  disloyal  to  me 
'  by  word  or  deed ;  and  of  all  these,  thus  various  in  their 
relations  to  me,  those  more  especially  who  have  since 
joined  the  Catholic  Church. 

"  And  I  earnestly  pray  for  this  whole  company,  with  a 
hope  against  hope,  that  all  of  us,  who  once  were  so 
united,  and  so  happy  in  our  union,  may  even  now  be 
brought  at  length,  by  the  Power  of  the  Divine  Will, 
into  One  Fold  and  under  One  Shepherd." 


VI. 

THE  careful  gradation  of  values  in  Newman's  style 
and  the  far-reaching  sweep  of  his  periods  connect 
themselves  closely  with  another  of  his  noteworthy 
characteristics, — his  breadth  of  handling.  He  mani- 
pulates with  perfect  ease  and  precision  vast  masses  of 
facts  and  makes  them  all  contribute  with  unerring  co- 
operation to  the  production  of  a  single  effect.  How- 
ever minute  his  detail, — and  his  liking  for  concreteness 
which  will  be  presently  illustrated  often  incites  him  to 
great  minuteness, — he  never  confuses  his  composition, 
destroys  the  perspective,  or  loses  sight  of  total  effect. 
The  largeness  of  his  manner  and  the  certainty  of  his 
handling  place  him  at  once  among  really  great  jon- 
structive  artists. 


xxxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

Against  this  assertion  it  will  be  urged  that  in  his 
fiction  it  is  just  this  breadth  of  effect  and  constructive 
skill  that  are  most  noticeably  lacking ;  that  each  of  his 
novels,  whatever  its  merits  in  places,  is  unsuccessful 
as  a  whole,  and  leaves  a  blurred  impression.  This 
must  at  once  be  granted.  But  after  all  it  is  in  his 
theoretical  or  moral  or  historical  work  that  the  real 
Newman  is  to  be  found ;  in  such  work  he  is  much 
more  himself,  much  more  thoroughly  alive  and  efficient 
than  in  his  stories,  which,  though  cleverly  turned  out, 
were  after  all  things  by  the  way,  were  amateurish  in 
execution,  and  never  completely  called  forth  his 
strength.  Moreover,  even  in  his  novels,  we  find 
occasionally  the  integrating  power  of  his  imagination 
remarkably  illustrated.  The  description  in  Callista  of 
the  invading  and  ravaging  locusts  is  admirably  sure  in 
its  treatment  of  .detail  and  even  and  impressive  in 
tone ;  the  episode  of  Gurta's  madness  is  powerfully 
conceived,  is  swift  and  sure  in  its  action,  and  is  devel- 
oped with  admirable  subordination  and  coloring  of 
detail  and  regard  to  climax. 

On  the  whole,  however,  it  must  be,  granted  that  in 
his  fiction  Newman's  sense  of  total  effect  and  construc- 
tive skill  are  least  conspicuous.  In  his  abstract  dis- 
cussions they  never  fail  him.  First  and  foremost, 
they  shew  themselves  in  the  plan  of  each  work  as  a 
whole.  The  treatment  is  invariably  symmetrical  and 
exhaustive  ;  part  answers  to  part  with  the  precision 
and  the  delicacy  of  adjustment  of  a  work  of  art.  Each 
part  is  conscious  of  the  whole  and  has  a  vitally  loyal 
relation  to  it,  so  that  the  needs  and  purposes  of  the 
whole  organism  seem  present  as  controlling  and  cen- 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxix 

tralizing  instincts  in  every  chapter,  and  paragraph,  and 
sentence. 

In  his  use  of  elaborate  illustrations  for  the  sake 
of  securing  concreteness  and  sensuous  beauty,  New- 
-man  shows  this  same  integrating  power  of  imagi- 
nation. In  the  long  illustrations  which  often  take 
almost  the  proportions  of  episodes  in  the  epical  pro- 
gress of  his  argument  or  exposition,  the  reader  never 
has  a  sense  of  bewilderment  or  uncertainty  of  aim ; 
the  strength  of  Newman's  mind  and  purpose  subdues 
perfectly  all  his  endlessly  diverse  material,  and  com- 
pels it  into  artistic  coherence  and  vital  unity ;  all  de- 
tails are  colored  in  harmony  with  the  dominant  tone 
of  the  piece,  and  re-enforce  a  predetermined  mood. 
When  a  reader  commits  himself  to  one  of  Newman's 
discussions  he  must  resign  himself  to  him  body  and 
soul,  and  be  prepared  to  live  and  move  and  have  his 
being  in  the  medium  of  Newman's  thought,  and,  more- 
over, in  the  special  range  of  thought,  and  the  special 
mood  that  this  particular  discussion  provokes.  Per- 
haps this  omnipresence  of  Newman  in  the  minutest  de- 
tails of  each  discussion  becomes  ultimately  to  the 
careful  student  of  his  writing  the  most  convincing 
proof  of  the  largeness  of  his  mind,  of  the  intensity  of 
his  conception,  and  of  the  vigor  and  vitality  of  his  im- 
agination. 

It  may  be  urged  that  the  copiousness  of  Newman  at 
times  becomes  wearisome ;  that  he  is  over-liberal  of 
both  explanation  and  illustration ;  and  that  his  style, 
though  never  exuberant  in  ornament,  is  sometimes 
annoyingly  luminous,  and  blinds  with  excess  of  light. 
This  is  probably  the  point  in  which  Newman's  style  is 


xl  INTRODUCTION. 

most  open  to  attack.  It  is  a  cloyingly  explicit,  rather 
than  a  stimulatingly  suggestive,  style ;  it  does  almost 
too  much  for  the  reader,  and  is  almost  inconsiderately 
generous.  "  To  really  strenuous  minds  there  is  a 
pleasurable  stimulus  in  the  challenge  for  a  continuous 
effort  on  their  part,  to  be  rewarded  by  securer  and  more 
intimate  grasp  of  the  author's  sense.  Self-restraint,  a 
skilful  economy  of  means,  aschis,  that  too  has  a  beauty 
of  its  own."  J  Whether  in  much  of  his  work  Newman 
has  not  neglected  the  ideal  which  these  sentences  of 
Mr.  Pater  inculcate,  may  fairly  be  questioned,  yet  it 
should  be  noted  that  Mr.  Pater  himself,  very  soon 
after  setting  up  this  standard  of  style,  instances  New- 
man's Idea  of  a  University  as  an  example  of  "  the  per- 
fect handling  of  a  theory." 

One  characteristic  of  the  purely  suggestive  style  is 
certainly  to  be  found  in  Newman's  writing, — great 
beauty  and  vigor  of  phrase.  This  fact  is  the  more 
noteworthy  because  a  writer  who,  like  Newman, 
is  impressive  in  the  mass,  and  excels  in  securing 
breadth  of  effect,  very  often  lacks  the  ability  to  strike 
out  memorable  epigrams.  A  few  quotations,  brought 
together  at  random,  will  show  what  point  and  terseness 
Newman  could  command  when  he  chose.  "  Ten  thou- 
sand difficulties  do  not  make  a  doubt."  2  "  Great 
things  are  done  by  devotion  to  one  idea.'^3  "Calcu- 
lation never  made  a  hero." 4  "  All  aberrations  are 
founded  on,  and  have  their  life  in,  some  truth  or 


1  Pater's  Appreciations,  ed.  1890,  p.  14. 

2  Apologia,  p.  239.     3  Hist.  Sketches,  ed.  1891,  III.  p.  197. 
4  Development  of  Christian  Doctrine,  ed.  1891,  p.  328. 


ItfTROD  UC  r/OM  xli 

other."1  "Great  acts  take  time."2  "A  book  after 
all  cannot  make  a  stand  against  the  wild  living  intellect 
of  man."  3  "  To  be  converted  in  partnership."  •»  "  It 
is  not  at  all  easy  (humanly  speaking)  to  wind  up  an 
Englishman  to  a  dogmatic  level."  s  "  Paper  logic."  6 
"  One  is  not  at  all  pleased  when  poetry,  or  eloquence, 
or  devotion  is  considered  as  if  chiefly  intended  to 
feed  syllogisms."  ?  "  Here  below  to  live  is  to  change, 
and  to  be  perfect  is  to  have  changed  often."8  In 
terseness  and  sententiousness  these  utterances  could 
hardly  be  surpassed  by  the  most  acrimonious  searcher 
after  epigram,  though  of  course  they  have  not  the 
glitter  of  paradox  to  which  modern  coiners  of  phrases 
aspire. 

Of  wit  there  is  very  little  to  be  found  in  Newman's 
writings ;  it  is  not  the  natural  expression  of  his  temper- 
ament. Wit  is  too  dryly  intellectual,  too  external  and 
formal,  too  little  vital  to  suit  Newman's  mental  habit. 
To  the  appeal  of  humour  he  was  distinctly  more  open. 
It  is  from  the  humorous  incongruities  of  imaginary 
situations  that  his  irony  secures  its  most  persuasive 
effects.  Moreover,  whenever  he  is  not  necessarily  pre- 
occupied with  the  tragically  serious  aspects  of  life  and 
of  history,  or  forced  by  his  subject-matter,  and  audi- 
ence, into  a  formally  restrained  manner  and  method,  he 
has,  in  treating  any  topic,  that  urbanity  and  half-playful 
kindliness  that  come  from  a  large-minded  and  almost 
tolerant  recognition  of  the  essential  imperfections  of 


1  Apologia,  p.  188.     2  Ibid.  p.  169.     3  Ibid.,  p.  245.     4  Ibid.  219. 

s  Ibid.  204.     6  Ibid.  169.     7  Ibid.  p.  170. 

8  Devel.  of  Christian  Doctrine,  ed.  1891,  p.  40. 


xlii  INTRODUCTION. 

life  and  human  nature.  The  mood  of  the  man  of  the 
world,  sweetened  and  ennobled,  and  enriched  by  pro- 
found knowledge  and  deep  feeling  and  spiritual  seri> 
ousness,  gives  to  much  of  Newman's  work  its  most 
distinctive  note.  When  he  is  able  to  be  thoroughly 
colloquial,  this  mood  and  this  tone  can  assert  them- 
selves most  freely,  and  the  result  is  a  style  through 
which  a  gracious  kindliness  which  is  never  quite 
humor,  and  which  yet  possesses  all  its  elements, 
diffuses  itself  pervasively  and  persuasively.  Through- 
out the  whole  of  the  Rise  and  Progress  of  Universities 
this  tone  is  traceable,  and,  to  take  a  specific  example, 
it  is  largely  to  its  influence  that  the  description  of 
Athens,  quoted  on  pages  3-7,  owes  its  peculiar  charm. 
What  can  be  more  deliciously  incongruous  than  a  com- 
mercial traveller,  or  "  drummer,"  and  the  Acropolis  ? 
or  more  curiously  ill- ad  justed  than  his  standards  of 
valuation  to  the  qualities  of  the  Grecian  landscape  ? 
Yet  how  little  malicious  is  Newman's  use  of  this 
incongruity  or  disproportion,  and  how  unsuspiciously 
the  "  agent  of  a  London  Company "  ministers  to  the 
quiet  amusement  of  the  reader,  and  also  helps  to 
heighten,  by  contrast,  the  effect  of  beauty  and  romance 
and  mystery  that  Newman  is  aiming  at. 

Several  allusions  have  already  been  made  to  New- 
man's liking  for  concreteness.  And  in  an  earlier  para- 
graph his  distrust  of  the  abstract  was  described  and 
illustrated  at  length.  These  predilections  of  his  have 
left  their  unmistakable  mark  everywhere  on  his  style 
in  ways  more  technical  than  those  that  have  thus  far 
been  noted.  His  vocabulary  is,  for  a  scholar,  excep- 
tionally idiomatic  and  unliterary;  the  most  ordinary 


INTRODUCTION.  xliii 

and  unparsable  turns  of  every-day  speech  are  inwrought 
in*o  the  texture  of  his  style.  In  the  Apologia  he  speaks 
of  himself  in  one  place  as  having  had  "  a  lounging 
free-and-easy  way  of  carrying  things  on,"  r  and  the 
phrase  both  defines  and  illustrates  one  characteristic 
of  his  style.  Idioms  that  have  the  crude  force  of  pop- 
ular speech,  the  vitality  without  the  vulgarity  of  slang, 
abound  in  his  writings.  Of  his  increasingly  clear  recog- 
nition, in  1839,  °f  tne  weakness  of  the  Anglican  position, 
he  says  :  "  The  Via  Media  was  an  impossible  idea ;  it 
was  what  I  had  called  '  standing  on  one  leg. '  "  2  His 
loss  of  control  over  his  party  in  1840  he  describes  as 
follows  :  "  I  never  had  a  strong  wrist,  but  at  the  very 
time  when  it  was  most  needed,  the  reins  had  broken 
in  my  hands."  8  Of  the  ineradicableness  of  evil  in 
human  nature  he  exclaims  :  "  You  do  but  play  a  sort 
of  '  hunt  the  slipper,'  with  the  fault  of  our  nature,  till 
you  go  to  Christianity."4  Illustrations  of  this  idioma- 
tic and  homely  phrasing  might  be  endlessly  multiplied. 
Moreover,  to  the  concreteness  of  colloquial  phrasing 
Newman  adds  the  concreteness  of  the  specific  word. 
Other  things  being  equal,  he  prefers  the  name  of  the  spe- 
cies to  that  of  the  genus,  and  the  name  of  the  class  to  that 
of  the  species ;  he  is  always  urged  forward  toward  the 
individual  and  the  actual ;  his  mind  does  not  lag  in 
the  region  of  abstractions  and  formulas,  but  presses 
past  the  general  term  or  abstraction  or  law,  to  the 
image  or  the  example,  and  into  the  tangible,  glowing, 
sensible  world  of  fact.  His  imagery,  though  never 

*  Apologia,  p.  59.     x  Ibid.,  p.  149.      3  Ibid.t  p.  128. 

*  Disc,  and  Arg.,  p.  274. 


xliv  INTRODUCTION. 

obtrusive,  is  almost  lavishly  present,  and  though 
never  purely  decorative,  is  often  very  beautiful. 
It  is  so  inevitable,  however,  springs  so  organically 
from  the  thought  and  the  mood  of  the  moment,  that 
the  reader  accepts  it  unmindfully,  and  is  conscious  only 
of  grasping  easily  and  securely  the  writer's  meaning. 
He  must  first  look  back  through  the  sentences  and 
study  the  style  in  detail  before  he  will  come  to  realize 
its  continual  but  decisive  divergence  from  the  literal 
and  commonplace,  and  its  essential  freshness  and 
distinction. 

On  occasion,  of  course,  Newman  uses  elaborate, 
figures ;  but  always  for  purposes  of  exposition  or  per- 
suasion. In  such  cases  the  reader  should  note  the 
thoroughness  with  which  the  figure  adjusts  itself  to 
every  turn  and  phase  of  the  thought,  and  the  surpris- 
ing omnipresence  and  suggestiveness  of  the  tropical 
phrasing.  These  qualities  of  Newman's  style  are  well 
illustrated  in  the  following  passage  from  the  Develop- 
ment of  Christian  Doctrine  : — 

"Whatever  be  the  risk  of  corruption  from  intercourse 
with  the  world  around,  such  a  risk  must  be  encountered 
if  a  great  idea  is  duly  to  be  understood,  and  much  more 
if  it  is  to  be  fully  exhibited.  It  is  elicited  and  expanded 
by  trial,  and  battles  into  perfection  and  supremacy. 
Nor  does  it  escape  the  collision  of  opinion  even  in  its 
earlier  years,  nor  does  it  remain  truer  to  itself,  and  with 
a  better  claim  to  be  considered  one  and  the  same, 
though  externally  protected  from  vicissitude  and 
change.  It  is  indeed  sometimes  said  that  the  stream 
is  clearest  near  the  spring.  Whatever  use  may  fairly  be 
made  of  this  image,  it  does  not  apply  to  the  history  of 


INTRODUCTION.  xlv 

a  philosophy  or  belief,  which  on  the  contrary  is  more 
equable,  and  purer,  and  stronger,  when  its  bed  has 
become  deep,  and  broad,  and  full.  It  necessarily  rises 
out  of  an  existing  state  of  things,  and  for  a  time  savors 
of  the  soil.  Its  vital  element  needs  disengaging  from 
what  is  foreign  and  temporary,  and  is  employed  in 
efforts  after  freedom  which  become  more  vigorous  and 
hopeful  as  its  years  increase.  Its  beginnings  are  no 
measure  of  its  capabilities,  nor  of  its  scope.  At  first 
no  one  knows  what  it  is,  or  what  it  is  worth.  It  remains 
perhaps  for  a  time  quiescent ;  it  tries,  as  it  were,  its  limbs, 
and  proves  the  ground  under  it,  and  feels  its  way.  From 
time  to  time,  it  makes  essays  which  fail,  and  are  in 
consequence  abandoned.  It  seems  in  suspense  which 
way  to  go ;  it  wavers,  and  at  length  strikes  out  in  one 
definite  direction.  In  time  it  enters  upon  strange  terri- 
tory ;  points  of  controversy  alter  their  bearing ;  parties 
rise  and  fall  around  it ;  dangers  and  hopes  appear  in 
new  relations ;  and  old  principles  reappear  under  new 
forms.  It  changes  with  them  in  order  to  remain  the 
same.  In  a  higher  world  it  is  otherwise,  but  here 
below  to  live  is  to  change,  and  to  be  perfect  is  to  have 
changed  often.1  "  The  image  of  the  river  pervades 
this  passage  throughout  and  yet  is  never  obtrusive  and 
never  determines  or  even  constrains  the  progress  of 
the  thought.  The  imagery  simply  seems  to  insinuate 
the  ideas  into  the  reader's  mind  with  a  certain  novelty 
of  appeal  and  half-sensuous  persuasiveness.  Another 
passage  of  much  this  kind  has  already  been  quoted  on 
page  xx,  where  Newman  describes  the  adventurous 
investigator  scaling  the  crags  of  truth. 

1  Development  of  Christian  Doctrine,  ed.  1891,  pp.  39-49. 


xlvi  INTRODUCTION. 

Closely  akin  to  this  use  of  figures  is  Newman's 
generous  use  of  examples  and  illustrations.  Whatever 
be  the  principle  he  is  discussing,  he  is  never  content 
till  he  has  realized  it  for  the  reader  in  tangible,  visible 
form,  until  he  has  given  it  the  cogency  and  intensity  of 
appeal  that  only  sensations  or  images  possess.  In  all 
these  ways,  then,  by  his  idiomatic  and  colloquial 
phrasing,  by  his  specific  vocabulary,  by  his  delicately 
adroit  use  of  metaphors,  by  his  carefully  elaborated 
imagery,  and  by  his  wealth  of  examples  and  illustra- 
tions, Newman  keeps  resolutely  close  to  the  concrete, 
and  imparts  everywhere  to  his  style  warmth,  vividness, 
color,  convincing  actuality. 


VII. 

IT  remains  to  suggest  briefly  Newman's  relation  to 
what  was  most  characteristic  in  the  thought  and  feel- 
ing of  his  times.  This  is  not  the  place  for  a  discus- 
sion of  his  theological  position,  or  for  a  technical  ac- 
count of  the  great  religious  movements  which  he 
partly  originated  and  largely  guided  and  determined. 
But  without  an  attempt  at  any  such  special  analysis  of 
his  doctrine  or  determination  of  the  processes  of  his 
thought,  it  will  be  possible  to  connect  him,  by  virtue  of 
certain  temperamental  characteristics,  and  certain  pre- 
vailing modes  of  conceiving  life,  with  what  was  most 
distinctive  in  the  literature  of  the  early  part  of  the  cen- 
tury. 

Perhaps  the  most  general  formula  for  the  work  of 


INTRODUCTION.  .      xlvii 

English  literature  during  the  first  quarter  of  the  present 
century  is  the  rediscovery  and  vindication  of  the  con- 
crete. The  special  task  of  the  eighteenth  century  had 
been  to  order,  and  to  systematize,  and  to  name  ;  its 
favorite  methods  had  been  analysis  and  generalization. 
It  asked  for  no  new  experience  ;  it  sought  only  to 
master  and  reduce  to  formulas,  and  to  find  convenient 
labels  for  what  experience  it  already  possessed.  It 
was  perpetually  in  search  of  standards  and  canons ;  it 
was  conventional  through  and  through  ;  and  its  men 
felt  secure  from  the  ills  of  time  only  when  sheltered 
under  some  ingenious  artificial  construction  of  rule  and 
precedent.  Whatever  lay  beyond  the  scope  of  their 
analysis-  and  defied  their  laws,  they  disliked  and 
dreaded ;  the  outlying  regions  of  mystery  which  hem  life 
in  on  every  side,  are  inaccessible  to  the  intellect  and 
irreducible  in  terms  of  its  laws,  were  strangely  repel- 
lent to  them,  and  from  such  shadowy  vistas  they  res- 
olutely turned  their  eyes  and  fastened  them  on  the 
solid  ground  at  their  feet.  The  familiar  bustle  of  the 
town,  the  thronging  streets  of  the  city,  the  gay  life  of 
the  drawing-room  and  coffee-house  and  play-house ;  or 
the  more  exalted  life  of  Parliament  and  Court,  the  in- 
trigues of  State-chambers,  the  manoeuvres  of  the  bat- 
tle-field ;  the  aspects  of  human  activity,  wherever  col- 
lective man  in  his  social  capacity  goes  through  the 
orderly  and  comprehensible  changes  of  his  ceaseless 
pursuit  of  worldly  happiness  and  worldly  success ; 
these  were  the  subjects  that  for  the  men  of  the  eight- 
eenth century  had  absorbing  charm,  and  in  seeking  to 
master  this  intricate  play  of  forces,  to  fathom  the  mo- 
tives below  it,  to  tabulate  its  experiences,  to  set  up 


xlviii  INTRODUCTION. 

standards  to  guide  the  individual  successfully  through 
the  intricacies  of  this  commonplace  every-day  world, 
they  spent  their  utmost  energy,  and  to  these  tasks  they 
instinctively  limited  themselves.  In  poetry  it  was  a 
generalized  view  of  life  that  they  aimed  at,  a  semi-phil- 
osophical representation  of  man's  nature  and  actions. 
Pope,  the  typical  poet  of  the  century,  "  stooped  to  truth 
and  moralized  his  song."  Dr.  Johnson,  the  most 
authoritative  critic  of  the  century,  taught  that  the  poet 
should  "  remark  general  properties  and  large  appear- 
ances ....  and  must  neglect  the  minuter  discrimi- 
nations, which  one  may  have  remarked,  and  another 
have  neglected,  or  those  characteristics  which  are  alike 
obvious  to  vigilance  and  carelessness."  In  prose  the 
same  moralizing  and  generalizing  tendencies  prevailed 
and  found  their  most  adequate  and  thorough-going  ex- 
pression in  the  abstract  and  pretentiously  Latinized 
style  of  Dr.  Johnson. 

Everywhere  thought  gave  the  law ;  the  senses  and 
the  imagination  were  kept  jealously  in  subordination. 
The  abstract,  the  typical,  the  general — these  were  every- 
where exalted  at  the  expense  of  the  image,  the  speci- 
fic experience,  the  vital  fact.  In  religion  the  same  ten- 
dencies showed  themselves.  Orthodoxy  and  Deism 
alike  were  mechanical  in  their  conception  of  Nature 
and  of  God.  Free-thinkers  and  Apologists  alike  tried 
to  systematize  religious  experience,  and  to  rationalize 
theology.  In  the  pursuit  of  historical  evidences  and 
of  logical  demonstrations  of  the  truth  or  falsity  of  re- 
ligion, genuine  religious  emotion  was  almost  neglected 
or  was  actually  condemned.  Enthusiasm  was  dis- 
trusted or  abhorred ;  an  enthusiast  was  a  madman.  In- 


IN  TROD  UC  TION.  xlix 

tense  feeling  of  all  kinds  was  regarded  askance,  and 
avoided  as  irrational,  unsettling,  prone  to  disarrange 
systems  and  to  overturn  standards  and  burst  the  bonds 
of  formulas. 

'  Now  it  was  to  this  limited  manner  of  living  life  and 
of  conceiving  of  life  that  the  great  movement  which, 
for  lack  of  a  better  name,  may  be  called  the  Romantic 
Movement,  was  to  put  an  end.  The  Romanticists 
sought  to  enrich  life  with  new  emotions,  to  conquer 
new  fields  of  experience,  to  come  into  imaginative 
touch  with  far  distant  times,  to  give  its  due  to  the  en- 
compassing world  of  darkness  and  mystery,  and  even 
to  pierce  through  the  darkness  in  the  hope  of  finding, 
at  the  heart  of  the  mystery,  a  transcendental  world  of 
infinite  beauty  and  eternal  truth.  A  keener  sense  of 
the  value  of  life  penetrated  them  and  stirred  them  into 
imaginative  sympathy  with  much  that  had  left  the  men 
of  the  eighteenth  century  unmoved.  They  found  in  the 
naive  life  of  nature  and  animals  and  children  a  pictur- 
esqueness  and  grace  that  was  wanting  in  the  sophisti- 
cated life  of  the  "  town ;  "  they  delighted  in  the  mys- 
terious chiaroscuro  of  the  middle  ages,  in  its  ri  ;h 
blazonry  of  passion,  and  its  ever-changing  spectacular 
magnificence ;  they  looked  forward  with  ardor  into  the 
future,  and  dreamed  dreams  of  the  progress  of  man ; 
they  opened  their  hearts  to  the  influences  of  the 
spiritual  world,  and  religion  became  to  them  something 
more  than  respectability  and  morality.  In  every  way 
they  endeavored  to  give  some  new  zest  to  life,  to  im- 
part to  it  some  fine  novel  flavor,  to  attain  to  some 
exquisite  new  experience.  They  sought  this  new 
experience  imaginatively  in  the  past,  with  Scott  and 
4 


1  INTROD  UC  TION. 

Southey;  they  sought  it  with  fierce  insistence  in  foreign 
lands,  following  Byron,  and  in  the  wild  exploitation  of 
individual  fancy  and  caprice  ;  they  sought  it  with  Cole- 
ridge and  Wordsworth  through  the  revived  sensitive- 
ness of  the  spirit  and  its  intuitions  of  a  transcendental 
world  of  absolute  reality ;  they  sought  it  with  Shelley 
in  the  regions  of  the  vast  inane.' 

Now  it  was  in  the  midst  of  these  restless  conditions 
and  under  the  influence  of  all  this  new  striving  and 
aspiration  that  Newman's  youth  and  most  impression- 
able years  of  development  were  spent,  and  he  took 
color  and  tone  from  his  epoch  to  a  degree  that  has 
often  been  overlooked.  His  work,  despite  its  reac- 
tionary character,  indeed,  partly  because  of  it,  is  a 
genuine  expression  of  the  Romantic  spirit,  and  can  be 
understood  only  when  thus  interpreted  and  brought 
into  relation  with  the  great  tendencies  of  thought  and 
feeling  of  the  early  part  of  our  century.  Of  his  direct 
indebtedness  to  Scott,  Wordsworth,  and  Coleridge,  he 
has  himself  made  record  in  the  Apologia  l  and  in  his 
Autobiographical  Sketch?  But  far  more  important  than 
the  influence  of  any  single  man  was  the  penetrating 
and  determining  action  upon  him  of  the  romantic  at- 
mosphere, overcharged  as  it  was  with  intense  feeling 
and  tingling  with  new  thought.  The  results  of  this 
action  may  be  traced  throughout  his  temperament  and 
in  all  his  work. 

Mediaevalism,  as  we  have  seen,  was  a  distinctive 
note  of  the  Romantic  spirit,  and,  certainly,  Newman 
was  intensely  alive  to  the  beauty  and  the  poetic  charm 
of  the  life  of  the  Middle  Ages.  One  is  sometimes 

1  Apologia,  p.  96.  *  Letters  and  Correspondence,  I.  18. 


INTRODUCTION.  \\ 

tempted  to  describe  him  as  a  great  mediaeval  ecclesiastic 
astray  in  the  nineteenth  century  and  heroically  striving 
to  remodel  modern  life  in  harmony  with  his  temper- 
amental needs.  His  imagination  was  possessed  with 
the  romantic  vision  of  the  greatness  of  the  Mediaeval 
Church, — of  its  splendor  and  pomp  and  dignity,  and 
of  its  power  over  the  hearts  and  lives  of  its  members  ; 
and  the  Oxford  movement  was  in  its  essence  an  attempt 
to  reconstruct  the  English  Church  in  harmony  with 
this  romantic  ideal,  to  rouse  the  Church  to  a  vital 
realization  of  its  own  great  traditions,  and  to  restore  to 
it  the  prestige  and  the  dominating  position  it  had  had 
in  the  past.  As  Scott's  imagination  was  fascinated 
with  the  picturesque  paraphernalia  of  feudalism, — with 
•its  jousts,  and  courts  of  love,  and  its  coats  of  mail 
and  buff-jerkins,1 — so  Newman's  imagination  was  cap- 
tivated by  the  gorgeous  ritual  and  ceremonial,  the  art 
and  architecture  of  mediaeval  Christianity,  and  found 
in  them  the  symbols  of  the  spirit  of  mystery  and  awe 
which  was  for  him  the  essentially  religious  spirit,  and 
of  the  mystical  truths  of  which  revealed  religion  was 
made  up.  The  Church,  as  Newman  found  it,  was 
Erastian  and  worldly ;  it  was  apt  to  regard  itself  as 
merely  an  ally  of  the  State  for  the  maintenance  of 
order  and  spread  of  morality ;  it  was  coldly  rational  in 
belief  and  theology,  and  prosaic  in  its  conception  of 
religious  truth  and  of  its  own  position  and  functions. 
Newman  sought  to  revive  in  the  Church  a  mediaeval 
faith  in  its  own  divine  mission  and  the  intense  spiritual 
consciousness  of  the  Middle  Ages  ;  he  aimed  to  restore 
to  religion  its  mystical  character,  to  exalt  the  sacra- 
1  Leslie  Stephen,  Hour  in  a  Library. 


Hi  INTRODUCTION. 

mental  system  as  the  divinely  appointed  means  for  the 
salvation  of  souls,  and  to  impose  once  more  on  men's 
imaginations  the  mighty  spell  of  a  hierarchical  organ- 
ization, the  direct  representative  of  God  in  the  world's 
affairs.  Such  was  the  mediaeval  ideal  to  which  he 
devoted  himself.  Both  he  and  Scott  substantially 
ruined  themselves  through  their  mediasvalism.  Scott's 
luckless  attempt  was  to  place  his  private  and  family 
life  upon  a  feudal  basis  and  to  give  it  mediaeval  color 
and  beauty ;  Newman  undertook  a  much  nobler  and 
more  heroic  but  more  intrinsically  hopeless  task, — that 
of  re-creating  the  whole  English  Church  in  harmony 
with  mediaeval  conceptions. 

Before  Newman,  Keble  had  already  conceived  of 
the  English  Church  in  this  imaginative  spirit.  In  the 
passage  quoted  in  the  Selections,  pp.  55-58,  Newman 
describes  how  Keble  had  made  the  Church  "  poetical," 
had  "  kindled  hearts  towards  it,"  and  by  "  his  happy 
magic  "  had  thrown  upon  its  ritual,  offices,  and  serv- 
ants a  glamour  and  beauty  of  which  they  had  for  many 
generations  been  devoid.  It  was  to  the  continuance 
and  the  furtherance  of  this  process  of  regeneration  and 
transfiguration  that  Newman  devoted  the  Oxford 
movement. 

But  the  essentially  Romantic  character  of  the  new 
movement  comes  out  in  other  ways  than  in  its  idealiza- 
tion of  the  Church.  The  relation  of  Newman  and 
of  his  friends  to  Nature  was  precisely  like  that  of  the 
Romanticists.  Newman,  like  Wordsworth,  Coleridge, 
and  Shelley,  found  Nature  mysteriously  beautiful  and 
instinct  with  strange  significance,  a  divinely  elaborated 
language  whereby  God  speaks  through  symbols  to  the 


INTRODUCTION-  Hn 

human  soul.  Keble's  Christian  Year  is  full  of  this 
interpretation  of  natural  sights  and  sounds  as  images 
of  spiritual  truth,  and  with  this  mystical  conception 
of  Nature  Newman  was  in  perfect  sympathy.  Nature 
was  for  him  as  rich  in  its  spiritual  suggest! veness, 
as  for  Wordsworth  or  Shelley,  and  was  as  truly  for  him 
as  for  Carlyle  or  Goethe  the  visible  garment  of  God. 
But  in  interpreting  the  emotional  value  of  Nature 
Newman  has  recourse  to  a  symbolism  drawn  ready- 
made  from  Christianity.  The  mystical  beauty  of 
Nature,  instead  of  calling  up  in  his  imagination  a 
Platonic  ideal  world  as  with  Shelley,  or  adumbrating 
the  world  of  eternal  verity  of  German  transcendental- 
ism as  with  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge,  suggested  to 
Newman  the  presence  and  power  of  seraphs  and 
angels.  Of  the  angels  he  says,  "  Every  breath  of  air 
and  ray  of  light  and  heat,  every  beautiful  prospect,  is, 
as  it  were,  the  skirts  of  their  garments,  the  waving  of 
the  robes  of  those  whose  faces  see  God."  Again,  he 
asks,  "  What  would  be  the  thoughts  of  a  man  who, 
when  examining  a  flower,  or  a  herb,  or  a  pebble,  or  a 
ray  of  light,  which  he  treats  as  something  so  beneath 
him  in  the  scale  of  existence,  suddenly  discovered 
that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  some  powerful  being 
who  was  hidden  behind  the  visible  things  he  was  in- 
specting,— who,  though  concealing  his  wise  hand,  was 
giving  them  their  beauty,  grace,  and  perfection,  as 
being  God's  instrument  for  the  purpose, — nay,  whose 
robe  and  ornaments  those  objects  were,  which  he  was 
so  eager  to  analyze  ?  "  r 

Despite   the  somewhat  conventional  symbolism  that 
1  Apologia,  p.  28. 


liv  IN  TROD  UC  TION. 

pervades  these  passages,  the  mystical  mood  in  the 
contemplation  of  Nature  that  underlies  and  suggests 
them  is  substantially  the  same  that  expresses  itself 
through  other  imagery  in  the  Romantic  poets.  In  his 
intense  sensitiveness,  then,  to  the  emotional  value  of 
the  visible  Universe,  and  in  his  interpretation  of  the 
beauty  of  hill  and  valley  and  mountain  and  stream  in 
terms  of  subjective  emotion,  Newman  may  justly  be 
said  to  have  shared  in  the  Romantic  Return  to  Nature. 
But  in  a  still  more  important  way  Newman's  work 
was  expressive  of  the  Return  to  Nature.  Under  this 
term  is  to  be  included  not  merely  the  fresh  delight  that 
the  Romanticists  felt  in  the  splendor  of  the  firmament 
and  the  tender  beauty  or  the  sublimity  of  sea  and  land, 
but  also  their  eager  recognition  of  the  value  of  the 
instinctive,  the  spontaneous,  the  natural  in  life,  as 
opposed  to  the  artificial,  the  self-conscious,  the  sys- 
tematic, and  the  conventional.  This  recognition  per- 
vades all  the  literature  of  the  first  quarter  of  our  cen- 
tury, and,  in  fact,  in  one  form  or  another,  is  the  charac- 
teristic note  of  what  is  most  novel  in  the  thought  and 
the  life  of  the  time.  In  this  Return  to  Nature  Newman 
shared.  For  him,  as  for  all  the  Romanticists,  life 
itself  is  more  than  what  we  think  about  life,  experience 
is  infinitely  more  significant  than  our  formulas  for 
summing  it  up,  and  transcends  them  incalculably. 
General  terms  are  but  the  makeshifts  of  logic  and  can 
never  cope  with  the  multiplicity  and  the  intensity  of 
sensation  and  feeling.  Newman's  elaborate  justifica- 
tion of  this  indictment  of  logic  is  wrought  out  in  the 
Grammar  of  Assent  and  in  his  Sermon  on  Implicit  and 
Explicit  Reason. 


INTRODUCTION.  lv 

Throughout  these  discourses  he  pleads  for  those 
vital  processes  of  thought  and  feeling  and  intuition 
which  every  man  goes  through  for  himself  in  his  ac- 
quisition of  concrete  truth,  and  which  he  can  perhaps 
describe  in  but  a  stammering  and  inconsequent  fashion 
in  the  terms  of  the  schoolman's  logic.  It  is  by  these 
direct,  spontaneous  processes,  Newman  urges,  that 
most  men  reach  truth  in  whatever  concrete  matter  they 
apply  themselves  to,  and  the  truth  that  they  reach  is 
none  the  less  true  because  they  have  not  the  knack  of 
setting  forth  syllogistically  their  reasons  for  accepting 
it.  In  his  rejection,  then,  of  formal  demonstration  as 
the  sole  method  for  attaining  truth,  in  his  recognition  of 
the  limitations'  of  logic,  and  in  his  deep  conviction  of 
the  surpassing  importance  of  the  spontaneous  and  in- 
stinctive in  life,  Newman  was  at  one  with  the  Roman- 
ticists, and  in  all  these  particulars  he  shared  in  their 
Return  to  Nature. 

This  insistance  of  Newman's  on  the  vital  character 
of  truth  is  a  point  the  importance  of  which  cannot  be 
exaggerated  when  the  attempt  is  being  made  to  grasp 
what  is  essential  in  his  psychology  and  his  ways  of 
conceiving  of  life  and  of  human  nature.  For  him  truth 
does  not  exist  primarily  as  for  the  formalist  in  the 
formulas  or  the  theorems  of  text-books,  but  in  the  minds 
and  the  hearts  of  living  men.  In  these  minds  and 
hearts  truth  grows  and  spreads  in  countless  subtle 
ways.  Its  appeal  is  through  numberless  other  channels 
than  those  of  the  mind.  Man  is  for  Newman  primarily 
an  agent, — an  acting  creature, — not  an  intellect  with 
merely  accidental  relations  to  an  outer  world.  First 
and  foremost  he  is  a  doer,  a  bringer  about  of  results,  a 


Ivi  INTRODUCTION. 

realizer  of  hopes  and  ambitions  and  ideals.  He  is  a 
mass  of  instincts  and  impulses,  of  prejudices  and 
passions ;  and  it  is  in  response  to  these  mighty  and 
ceaselessly  operating  springs  of  action  that  he  makes 
his  way  through  the  world  and  subdues  it  to  himself. 
Truth,  then,  to  commend  itself  to  such  a  being,  must 
come  not  merely  by  way  of  the  brain  but  also  by  that 
of  the  heart ;  it  must  not  be  a  collection  of  abstract 
formulas,  but  must  be  concrete  and  vital.  If  it  be  reli- 
gious truth,  it  must  not  take  the  form  of  logical  de- 
monstrations, but  must  be  beautifully  enshrined  in  the 
symbols  of  an  elaborate  ritual,  illustrated  in  the  lives 
of  saints  and  doctors,  authoritative  and  venerable  in 
the  creeds  and  liturgies  of  a  hierarchical  organization, 
irresistibly  cogent  as  inculcated  by  the  divinely  ap- 
pointed representatives  of  the  Source  of  all  Truth.  In 
these  forms  religious  truth  may  be  able  to  impose  itself 
upon  individuals,  to  take  complete  possession  of  them, 
to  master  their  minds  and  hearts,  and  to  rule  their 
lives. 

But  what  shall  be  the  test  of  such  truth  ?  How  shall 
the  individual  be  sure  of  its  claims  ?  How  shall  he 
choose  between  rival  systems  ?  Here  again  Newman 
refuses  to  be  content  with  the  formal  and  the  abstract, 
and  goes  straight  to  life  itself.  In  the  search  for  a 
criterion  of  truth  he  rejects  purely  intellectual  tests, 
and  has  recourse  to  tests  which  call  into  activity  the 
whole  of  a  man's  nature.  It  is  the  Illative  Sense 
that  detects  and  distinguishes  truth,  and  the  Illative 
Sense  is  simply  the  entire  mind  of  the  individual  vigor- 
ously grasping  concrete  facts  with  all  their  implications 
for  the  heart  and  for  the  imagination  and  for  conduct 


INTRODUCTION.  Ivii 

and  extracting  from  them  their  peculiar  significance. 
This  process,  by  which  the  individual  searches  for  and 
attains  truth  in  concrete  matters,  is  admirably  described 
in  the  passage  quoted  in  the  Introduction,  p.  xx.  The 
formal  logic  of  the  schools  can  never  thus  reach  truth ; 
it  always  falls  short  of  life ;  its  symbols  are  general 
terms,  colorless  abstractions,  from  which  all  the  palpi- 
tating warmth  and  persuasiveness  of  real  life  have 
been  carefully  drained.  Propositions  fashioned  out 
of  these  colorless  general  terms  cannot  by  any  pro- 
cess of  syllogistic  jugglery  be  made  to  comprehend 
the  whole  truth  of  a  religious  system.  They  leave 
out  inevitably  what  is  most  vital,  and  what  is  there- 
fore most  intimate  in  its  appeal  to  the  individual, — 
to  his  heart  and  practical  instincts,  and  his  imagina- 
tion. "  We  proceed  as  far  indeed  as  we  can,  by 
the  logic  of  language,  but  we  are  obliged  to  sup- 
plement it  by  the  more  subtle  and  elastic  logic  of 
thought ;  for  forms  by  themselves  prove  nothing."  r  "  It 
is  to  the  living  mind  that  we  must  look  for  the  means 
of  using  correctly  principles  of  whatever  kind."  2  "  In 
all  of  these  separate  actions  of  the  intellect,  the  indi- 
vidual is  supreme  and  responsible  to  himself,  nay,  under 
circumstances,  may  be  justified  in  opposing  himself  to 
the  judgment  of  the  whole  world ;  though  he  uses  rules 
to  his  great  advantage,  as  far  as  they  go,  and  is  in  con- 
sequence bound  to  use  them."1  Absolute  "proof  can 
never  be  furnished  to  us  by  the  logic  of  words,  for  as 
certitude  is  of  the  mind,  so  is  the  act  of  inference 
which  leads  to  it.  Every  one  who  reasons  is  his  own 

1  Grammar  of  Assent,  ed.  1889,  p.  359.     z  Ibid.,  p.  360. 
3  Ibid,  ed.,  1889,  p.  353. 


Iviii  INTRODUCTION. 

centre."  '  The  progress  of  the  individual  "  is  a  liv« 
ing  growth,  not  a  mechanism;  and  its  instruments 
are  mental  acts,  not  the  formulas  and  contriv- 
ances of  language."  * 

The  foregoing  analysis  has  tended  to  illustrate  the 
facts  that  Newman  aimed  to  make  religion  an  in- 
tensely concrete  personal  experience,  and  to  fill  out 
the  spiritual  life  with  widely-varying  and  richly-beauti- 
ful feeling ;  and  that  he  also  set  himself  everywhere 
consciously  and  directly  against  the  eighteenth  century 
ideal,  according  to  which  reason  was  the  sole  dis- 
coverer and  arbiter  of  truth  and  regulator  of  conduct. 
In  these  respects  Newman's  work  was  in  perfect  har- 
mony with  that  of  the  Romanticists.  Like  them  he 
was  pleading  for  the  spontaneous,  for  the  emotions 
and  the  imagination,  for  what  is  most  vital  in  life,  in 
opposition  to  the  formalists,  the  systematizers,  and 
the  devotees  of  logic. 

In  the  following  points,  then,  Newman's  kinship  with 
the  Romanticists  is  recognizable :  in  his  imaginative 
sympathy  with  the  past,  in  the  range  and  perspective 
of  his  historical  consciousness,  and  in  his  devotion 
to  an  ideal  framed  largely  in  accordance  with  a  loving 
reverence  for  mediaeval  life.  His  vein  of  mysticism, 
his  imaginative  sympathy  with  nature,  his  interpreta- 
tion of  nature  as  symbolic  of  spiritual  truth,  his  rejec- 
tion of  reason  as  the  guide  of  life,  and  his  recognition 
of  the  inadequacy  of  generalizations  and  formulas  to 
the  wealth  of  actual  life  and  to  the  intensity  and  variety 

1  Grammar  of  Assent,  p.  345. 
•  'Ibid.,  ed.  1889,  p.  350. 


IN  TROD  UC  TION.  Hx 

of  personal  experience,   are   also  characteristics   that 
mark  his  relation  to  the  men  of  his  period. 

These  are  a  few  of  the  considerations  which  make  it 
possible  to  bring  Newman's  temperament  and  work 
into  intelligible  connection  with  the  conditions  of 
thought  and  feeling  most  characteristic  of  his  time,  and 
which  help  to  render  comprehensible  the  Oxford  move- 
ment and  the  Roman  Catholic  revival  as  expressions  of 
tendencies  widely  operative  throughout  English  life  and 
literature.  It  will  perhaps  be  urged  that,  after  ali, 
what  is  individual  to  a  man  or  a  movement  is  far  more 
significant  than  what  the  man  or  movement  shares 
with  others,  and  that  therefore  to  study  wherein  New- 
man differed  from  his  contemporaries  would  have  been 
far  more  profitable  than  by  a  curious  blurring  of  traits 
to  try  to  reduce  Newman's  form  and  face  to  somewhat 
the  same  pattern  with  those  of  various  men  quite  unre- 
lated to  him  in  actual  life.  This  contention  would  be 
perfectly  just  if  appreciation  were  the  sole  end  in  the 
study  of  literature.  But  if  the  search  for  causes  be  also 
part  of  the  task  of  criticism,  and  if  a  piece  of  literature 
is  thoroughly  grasped  only  when  it  is  comprehended  in 
its  relations  to  the  general  conditions  of  thought  and 
feeling  in  the  midst  of  which  the  author  lived  and 
wrought,  then  the  justification  for  such  an  analysis  of 
an  author's  work  as  that  which  has  just  been  at- 
tempted, becomes  apparent.  It  has  been  with  a  view 
to  helping  students  to  a  broader  and  at  the  same  time 
more  penetrating  comprehension  of  Newman's  char- 
acter and  work  and  of  the  qualities  of  his  style,  that 
these  closing  suggestions  have  been  made. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


Abbott,  Edwin  A.    Philomythus.     London,  1891. 

Arnold,  Matthew.  Culture  and  Anarchy.  Ed.  1883.  Pp.  29-30. 

Birrell,  Augustine.     Res  Judicatae.     London,   1892. 

Brodrick,  George  C.  A  History  of  the  University  of  Oxford. 
London,  1886. 

Bulwer-Lytton.  England  and  the  English.  London,  1833. 
Bk.  in,  chaps.  4  and  5;  bk.  iv.  chap.  9. 

Church,  R.  W.  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Dean  Church. 
Edited  by  his  daughter.  London,  1894. 

Church,  R.  W.  The  Oxford  Movement:  twelve  years,  1833- 
1845.  London,  1891. 

Couch,  L.  Quiller,  editor.  Reminiscences  of  Oxford  by  Ox- 
ford men.  1559-1850.  Oxford,  1892. 

Froude,  J.  A.  The  Oxford  Counter-reformation.  Short 
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235- 

Froude,  J.  A.  The  Revival  of  Romanism.  Short  Studies, 
3d  series. 

Hore,  A.  H.  Eighteen  Centuries  of  the  Church  in  England. 
London,  1881. 

Hutton,  Richard   Holt.     Cardinal  Newman.     Boston,    1890. 

Hutton,  R.  H.  Essays  on  Some  of  the  Modern  Guides  of 
English  Thought  in  Matters  of  Faith.  London,  1887. 

Kingsley,  Charles.  "What,  then,  does  Dr.  Newman 
mean?"  London,  1864. 

Liddon,  Henry  Parry.  Life  of  E.  B.  Pusey.  London,  i8y4. 
3  vols. 

Liddon,  Henry  Parry.  Thoughts  on  Present  Church  Trou- 
bles. London,  1882. 

Martineau,  James.  Essays.  London,  1866.  pp.  329-406 : 
Personal  Influences  on  Present  Theology. 

lx 


BIBLIOGRAPHY.  Ixi 

Meynell,  Wilfrid.  Cardinal  Newman:  a  Monograph.  By 
John  Oldcastle  [pseudonym].  London.  [1890.]  Portraits. 

Molesworth,  William  Nassau.  History  of  the  Church  of 
England  from  1660.  London,  1882. 

Mozley,  Anne.  Letters  and  Correspondence  of  John  Henry 
Newman.  London,  1891.  2  vols. 

Mozley,  J.  B.     Letters.     London,  1885. 

Mozley,  Thomas.  Reminiscences  chiefly  of  Oriel  College 
and  the  Oxford  Movement.  Boston,  1882.  2  vols. 

Newman,  Francis  W.  Contributions  chiefly  to  the  early 
history  of  Cardinal  Newman;  with  comments.  2d  ed.  Lon- 
don, 1891. 

Palmer,  Sir  William,  Bart.  A  Narrative  of  Events  con- 
nected with  the  Tracts  of  the  Times.  London,  1883. 

Pattison,  Mark.     Memoirs.     London,  1885. 

Pfleiderer,  Otto  von.  Die  Entwicklung  der  Protestantischen 
Theologie.  Freiburg,  1891. 

Shairp,  J.  C.  Aspects  of  Poetry.  London,  1881.  pp. 
438-464. 

Stephen,  Leslie.  An  Agnostic's  Apology.  London,  1893. 
(Newman's  theory  of  belief.) 

Tulloch,  John.  Movements  of  Religious  Thought,  etc. 
London,  1885. 

Ward,  Wilfrid.  William  George  Ward  and  the  Oxford 
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Ward,  Wilfrid.  William  George  Ward  and  the  Catholic  Re- 
vival. London,  1893. 

Ward,  Wilfrid.  Witnesses  to  the  Unseen,  and  other  Essays. 
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Wilberforce,  Samuel,  Bishop.  Essays.  London,  1874.  2 
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Williams,  Isaac.     Autobiography.     London,  1892. 

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SELECTIONS 


Site  of  a 

IF  we  would  know  what  a  University  is,  considered 
in  its  elementary  idea,  we  must  betake  ourselves  to  the 
first  and  most  celebrated  home  of  European  literature 
and  source  of  European  civilization,  to  the  bright  and- 
beautiful  Athens, — Athens,  whose  schools  drew  to  her 
bosom,  and  then  sent  back  again  to  the  business  of  life, 
the  youth  of  the  Western  World  for  a  long  thousand 
years.  Seated  on  the  verge  of  the  continent,  the  city 
seemed  hardly  suited  for  the  duties  of  a  central  metrop- 
olis of  knowledge ;  yet,  what  it  lost  in  convenience 
of  approach,  it  gained  in  its  neighbourhood  to  the 
traditions  of  the  mysterious  East,  and  in  the  loveliness 
of  the  region  in  which  it  lay.  Hither,  then,  as  to  a 
sort  of  ideal  land,  where  all  archetypes  of  the  great  and 
the  fair  were  found  in  substantial  being,  and  all  de- 
partmenfs  of  truth  explored,  and  all  diversities  of  intel- 
lectual power  exhibited,  where  taste  and  philosophy 
were  majestically  enthroned  as  in  a  royal  court,  where 
there  was  no  sovereignty  but  that  of  mind,  and  no  no- 
bility but  that  of  genius,  where  professors  were  rulers, 

i 


2  SITE  OF  A  UNIVERSITY. 

and  princes  did  homage,  hither  flocked  continually 
from  the  very  corners  of  the  orbis  terrarum,  the  many- 
tongued  generation,  just  rising,  or  just  risen  into  man 
hood,  in  order  to  gain  wisdom. 

Pisistratus  had  in  an  early  age  discovered  and 
nursed  the  infant  genius  of  his  people,  and  Cimon, 
after  the  Persian  war,  had  given  it  a  home.  That  war 
had  established  the  naval  supremacy  of  Athens  ;  she 
had  become  an  imperial  state  ;  and  the  lonians,  bound 
to  her  by  the  double  chain  of  kindred  and  of  subjec- 
tion, were  importing  into  her  both  their  merchandise 
and  their  civilization.  The  arts  and  philosophy  of  the 
Asiatic  coast  were  easily  carried  across  the  sea,  and 
there  was  Cimon,  as  I  have  said,  with  his  ample  for- 
tune, ready  to  receive  them  with  due  honours.  Not 
content  with  patronizing  their  professors,  he  built  the 
first  of  those  noble  porticos,  of  which  we  hear  so  much 
in  Athens,  and  he  formed  the  groves,  which  in  process 
of  time  became  the  celebrated  Academy.  Planting  is 
one  of  the  most  graceful,  as  in  Athens  it  was  one  of 
the  most  beneficent,  of  employments.  Cimon  took  in 
hand  the  wild  wood,  pruned  and  dressed  it,  and  laid 
it  out  with  handsome  walks  and  welcome  fountains. 
Nor,  while  hospitable  to  the  authors  of  the  city's  civili-" 
zation,  was  he  ungrateful  to  the  instruments  of  her 
prosperity.  His  trees  extended  their  cool,  umbrageous 
branches  over  the  merchants,  who  assembled  in  the 
Agora,  for  many  generations. 

Those  merchants  certainly  had  deserved  that  act  of 
bounty  ;  for  all  the  while  their  ships  had  been  carrying 
forth  the  intellectual  fame  of  Athens  to  the  western 
World.  Then  commenced  what  may  be  called  her 


SITE  OF  A  UNIVERSITY.  3 

University  existence.  Pericles,  who  succeeded  Cimon 
both  in  the  government  and  in  the  patronage  of  art,  is 
said  by  Plutarch  to  have  entertained  the  idea  of  mak- 
ing Athens  the  capital  of  federated  Greece  :  in  this  he 
failed,  but  his  encouragement  of  such  meri  as  Phidias 
and  Anaxagoras  led  the  way  to  her  acquiring  a  far 
more  lasting  sovereignty  over  a  far  wider  empire. 
Little  understanding  the  sources  of  her  own  greatness, 
Athens  would  go  to  war :  peace  is  the  interest  of  a  seat 
of  commerce  and  the  arts ;  but  to  war  she  went ;  yet 
to  her,  whether  peace  or  war,  it  mattered  not.  The 
political  power  of  Athens  waned  and  disappeared ; 
kingdoms  rose  and  fell  ;  centuries  rolled  away, — they 
did  but  bring  fresh  triumphs  to  the  city  of  the  poet  and 
the  sage.  There  at  length  the  swarthy  Moor  and  Span- 
iard were  seen  to  meet  the  blue-eyed  Gaul ;  and  the 
Cappadocian,  late  subject  of  Mithridates,  gazed  with- 
out alarm  at  the  haughty  conquering  Roman.  Revo- 
lution after  revolution  passed  over  the  face  of  Europe, 
as  well  as  of  Greece,  but  still  she  was  there, — Athens, 
the  city  of  mind, — as  radiant,  as  splendid,  as  delicate, 
as  young,  as  ever  she  had  been. 

Many  a  more  fruitful  coast  or  isle  is  washed  by  the 
blue  ^Egean,  many  a  spot  is  there  more  beautiful  or 
sublime  to  see,  many  a  territory  more  ample  ;  but 
there  was  one  charm  in  Attica,  which,  in  the  same  per- 
fection, was  nowhere  else.  The  deep  pastures  of 
Arcadia,  the  plain,  Argos,  the  Thessalian  vale,  these 
had  not  the  gift ;  Boeotia,  which  lay  to  its  immediate 
north,  was  notorious  for  its  very  want  of  it.  The 
heavy  atmosphere  of  that  Bceotia  might  be  good  for 
vegetation,  but  it  was  associated  in  popular  belief  with 


4  SITE  OF  A   UNIVERSITY. 

the  dulness  of  the  Bceotian  intellect :  on  the  contrary, 
the  special  purity,  elasticity,  clearness,  and  salubrity  of 
the  air  of  Attica,  fit  concomitant  and  emblem  of  its 
genius,  did  that  for  it  which  earth  did  not : — it  brought 
out  every  bright  hue  and  tender  shade  of  the  landscape 
over  which  it  was  spread,  and  would  have  illuminated 
the  face  of  even  a  more  bare  and  rugged  country. 

A  confined  triangle,  perhaps  fifty  miles  its  greatest 
length,  and  thirty  its  greatest  breadth  ;  two  elevated 
rocky  barriers,  meeting  at  an  angle  ;  three  prominent 
mountains,  commanding  the  plain, — Parnes,  Penteli- 
cus,  and  Hymettus  ;  an  unsatisfactory  soil  ;  some 
streams,  not  always  full ; — such  is  about  the  report 
which  the  agent  of  a  London  company  would  have 
made  of  Attica.  He  would  report  that  the  climate 
was  mild ;  the  hills  were  limestone ;  there  was  plenty 
of  good  marble  ;  more  pasture  land  than  at  first  survey 
might  have  been  expected,  sufficient  certainly  for  sheep 
and  goats  ;  fisheries  productive  ;  silver  mines  once, 
but  long  since  worked  out ;  figs  fair  ;  oil  first-rate ; 
olives  in  profusion.  But  what  he  would  not  think  of 
noting  down,  was,  that  that  olive  tree  was  so  choice  in 
nature  and  so  noble  in  shape  that  it  excited  a  relig- 
ious veneration  ;  and  that  it  took  so  kindly  to  the  light 
soil,  as  to  expand  into  woods  upon  the  open  plain,  and 
to  climb  up  and  fringe  the  hills.  He  would  not 
think  of  writing  word  to  his  employers,  how  that  clear 
air,  of  which  I  have  spoken,  brought  out,  yet  blended 
and  subdued,  the  colours  on  the  marble,  till  they  had 
a  softness  and  harmony,  for  all  their  richness,  which  in 
a  picture  looks  exaggerated,  yet  is  after  all  within  the 
truth.  He  would  not  tell,  how  that  same  delicate  and 


SITE  OF  A   UNIVERSITY.  5 

,  brilliant  atmosphere  freshened  up  the  pale  olive,  till 
the  olive  forgot  its  monotony,  and  its  cheek  glowed  like 
the  arbutus  or  beech  of  the  Umbrian  hills.  He  would 
say  nothing  of  the  thyme  and  the  thousand  fragrant 
herbs  which  carpeted  Hymettus ;  he  would  hear  noth- 
ing of  the  hum  of  its  bees  ;  nor  take  much  account  of 
the  rare  flavour  of  its  honey,  since  Gozo  and  Minorca 
were  sufficient  for  the  English  demand.  He  would 
look  over  the  y£gean  from  the  height  he  had  as- 
cended ;  he  would  follow  with  his  eye  the  chain  of 
"islands,  which,  starting  from  the  Sunian  headland, 
seemed  to  offer  the  fabled  divinities  of  Attica,  when 
they  would  visit  their  Ionian  cousins,  a  sort  of  viaduct 
thereto  across  the  sea :  but  that  fancy  would  not  occur 
to  him,  nor  any  admiration  of  the  dark  violet  billows 
with  their  white  edges  down  below ;  nor  of  those  grace- 
ful, fan-like  jets  of  silver  upon  the  rocks,  which  slowly 
rise  aloft  like  water  spirits  from  the  deep,  then  shiver, 
and  break,  and  spread,  and  shroud  themselves,  and 
disappear  in  a  soft  mist  of  foam ;  nor  of  the  gentle,  in- 
cessant heaving  and  panting  of  the  whole  liquid  plain  ; 
nor  of  the  long  waves,  keeping  steady  time,  like  a  line 
of  soldiery  as  they  resound  upon  the  hollow  shore, — he 
would  not  deign  to  notice  that  restless  living  element  at 
all  except  to  bless  his  stars  that  he  was  not  upon  it. 
Nor  the  distinct  details,  nor  the  refined  colouring,  nor 
the  graceful  outline  and  roseate  golden  hue  of  the  jut- 
ting crags,  nor  the  bold  shadows  cast  from  Otus  or 
Laurium  by  the  declining  sun ; — our  agent  of  a  mer- 
cantile firm  would  not  value  these  matters  even  at  a 
low  figure.  Rather  we  must  turn  for  the  sympathy  we 
seek  to  yon  pilgrim  student,  come  from  a  semi-barba- 


6  SITE  OF  A   UNIVERSITY. 

rous  land  to  that  small  corner  of  the  earth,  as  to  a 
shrine,  where  he  might  take  his  fill  of  gazing  on  those 
emblems  and  coruscations  of  invisible  unoriginate 
perfection.  It  was  the  stranger  from  a  remote 
province,  from  Britain  or  from  Mauritania,  who  in  a 
scene  so  different  from  that  of  his  chilly,  woody 
swamps,  or  of  his  fiery,  choking  sands,  learned  at  once 
what  a  real  University  must  be,  by  coming  to  under- 
stand the  sort  of  country  which  was  its  suitable  home. 
Nor  was  this  all  that  a  University  required,  and 
found  in  Athens.  No  one,  even  there,  could  live  on 
poetry.  If  the  students  at  that  famous  place  had  noth- 
ing better  than  bright  hues  and  soothing  sounds,  they 
would  not  have  been  able  or  disposed  to  turn  their 
residence  there  to  much  account.  Of  course  they 
must  have  the  means  of  living,  nay,  in  a  certain  sense, 
of  enjoyment,  if  Athens  was  to  be  an  Alma  Mater  at 
the  time,  or  to  remain  afterwards  a  pleasant  thought  in 
their  memory.  And  so  they  had  :  be  it  recollected 
Athens  was  a  port,  and  a  mart  of  trade,  perhaps  the 
first  in  Greece  ;  and  this  was  very  much  to  the  point, 
when  a  number  of  strangers  were  ever  flocking  to  it, 
whose  combat  was  to  be  with  intellectual,  not  physical 
difficulties,  and  who  claimed  to  have  their  bodily  wants 
supplied,  that  they  might  be  at  leisure  to  set  about 
furnishing  their  minds.  Now,  barren  as  was  the  soil 
of  Attica,  and  bare  the  face  of  the  country,  yet  it  had 
only  too  many  resources  for  an  elegant,  nay,  luxurious 
abode  there.  So  abundant  were  the  imports  of  the 
place,  that  it  was  a  common  saying,  that  the  produc- 
tions, which  were  found  singly  elsewhere,  were  brought 
all  together  in  Athens.  Corn  and  wine,  the  staple  of 


SITE  OF  A  UNIVERSITY.  7 

•  subsistence  in  such  a  climate,  came  from  the  isles  of 
the  ^Egean  ;  fine  wool  and  carpeting  from  Asia  Minor  ; 
slaves,  as  now,  from  the  Euxine,  and  timber  too ;  and 
iron  and  brass  from  the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean. 
The  Athenian  did  not  condescend  to  manufactures  him- 
self, but  encouraged  them  in  others ;  and  a  population 
of  foreigners  caught  at  the  lucrative  occupation  both  for 
home  consumption  and  for  exportation.  Their  cloth, 
and  other  textures  for  dress  and  furniture,  and  their 
hardware — for  instance,  armour — were  in  great  request. 
Labour  was  cheap  ;  stone  and  marble  in  plenty  ;  and 
the  taste  and  skill,  which  at  first  were  devoted  to  public 
buildings,  as  temples  and  porticos,  were  in  the  course 
of  time  applied  to  the  mansions  of  public  men.  If 
nature  did  much  for  Athens,  it  is  undeniable  that  art 
did  much  more. 

Here  some  one  will  interrupt  me  with  the  remark : 
"  By  the  by,  where  are  we,  and  whither  are  we  going  ? 
— what  has  all  this  to  do  with  a  University  ?  at  least 
what  has  it  to  do  with  education  ?  It  is  instructive 
doubtless ;  but  still  how  much  has  it  to  do  with  your 
subject  ? "  Now  I  beg  to  assure  the  reader  that  I  am 
most  conscientiously  employed  upon  my  subject ;  and 
I  should  have  thought  every  one  would  have  seen  this  : 
however,  since  the  objection  is  made,  I  may  be  allowed 
to  pause  awhile,  and  show  distinctly  the  drift  of  what  I 
have  been  saying,  before  I  go  farther.  What  has  this 
to  do  with  my  subject !  why,  the  question  of  the  site  is 
the  very  first  that  comes  into  consideration,  when  a 
Studium  Generale  is  contemplated  ;  for  that  site  should 
be  a  liberal  and  noble  one  ;  who  will  deny  it  ?  All 
authorities  agree  in  this,  and  very  little  reflection  will 


8  SITE  OF  A   UNIVERSITY. 

be  sufficient  to  make  it  clear.  I  recollect  a  conversa- 
tion I  once  had  on  this  very  subject  with  a  very  emi- 
nent man.  I  was  a  youth  of  eighteen,  and  was  leaving 
my  University  for  the  Long  Vacation,  when  I  found 
myself  in  company  in  a  public  conveyance  with  a 
middle-aged  person,  whose  face  was  strange  to  me. 
However,  it  was  the  great  academical  luminary  of  the 
day,  whom  afterwards  I  knew  very  well.  Luckily  for 
me,  I  did  not  suspect  it;  and  luckily  too,  it  was  a 
fancy  of  his,  as  his  friends  knew,  to  make  himself  on 
easy  terms  especially  with  stage-coach  companions. 
So,  what  with  my  flippancy  and  his  condescension,  I 
managed  to  hear  many  things  which  were  novel  to  me 
at  the  time  ;  and  one  point  which  he  was  strong  upon, 
and  was  evidently  fond  of  urging,  was  the  material 
pomp  and  circumstance  which  should  environ  a  great 
seat  of  learning.  He  considered  it  was  worth  the 
consideration  of  the  government,  whether  Oxford 
should  not  stand  in  a  domain  of  its  own.  An  ample 
range,  say  four  miles  in  diameter,  should  be  turned 
into  wood  and  meadow,  and  the  University  should  be 
approached  on  all  sides  by  a  magnificent  park,  with 
fine  trees  in  groups  and  groves  and  avenues,  and  with 
glimpses  and  views  of  the  fair  city,  as  the  traveller 
drew  near  it.  There  is  nothing  surely  absurd  in  the 
idea,  though  it  would  cost  a  round  sum  to  realize  it. 
What  has  a  better  claim  to  the  purest  and  fairest  pos- 
sessions of  nature,  than  the  seat  of  wisdom  ?  So 
thought  my  coach  companion  ;  and  he  did  but  express 
the  tradition  of  ages  and  the  instinct  of  mankind. 

For    instance,  take    the   great  University   of  Paris. 
That  famous   school    engrossed   as   its   territory   the 


SITE  OF  A   UNIVERSITY.  9 

whole  south  bank  of  the  Seine,  and  occupied  one  half, 
and  that  the  pleasanter.half,  of  the  city.  King  Louis 
had  the  island  pretty  well  as  his  own, — it  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  fortification ;  and  the  north  of  the  river 
was  given  over  to  the  nobles  and  citizens  to  do  what 
they  could  with  its  marshes ;  but  the  eligible  south, 
rising  from  the  stream,  which  swept  around  its  base, 
to  the  fair  summit  of  St.  Genevieve,  with  its  broad 
meadows,  its  vineyards  and  its  gardens,  and  with  the 
sacred  elevation  of  Montmartre  confronting  it,  all  this 
was  the  inheritance  of  the  University.  There  was  that 
pleasant  Pratum,  stretching  along  the  river's  bank,  in 
which  the  students  for  centuries  took  their  recreation, 
which  Alcuin  seems  to  mention  in  his  farewell  verses 
to  Paris,  and  which  has  given  a  name  to  the  great 
Abbey  of  St.  Germain-des-Pre's.  For  long  years  it  was 
devoted  to  the  purposes  of  innocent  and  healthy 
enjoyment ;  but  evil  times  came  on  the  University ; 
disorder  arose  within  its  precincts,  and  the  fair 
meadow  became  the  scene  of  party  brawls  ;  heresy 
stalked  through  Europe,  and  Germany  and  England  no 
longer  sending  their  contingent  of  students,  a  heavy 
debt  was  the  consequence  to  the  academical  body. 
To  let  their  land  was  the  only  resource  left  to  them : 
buildings  rose  upon  it,  and  spread  along  the  green 
sod,  and  the  country  at  length  became  town.  Great 
was  the  grief  and  indignation  of  the  doctors  and 
masters,  when  this  catastrophe  occurred.  "  A 
wretched  sight,"  said  the  Proctor  of  the  German 
nation,  "  a  wretched  sight,  to  witness  the  sale  of  that 
ancient  manor,  whither  the  Muses  were  wont  to 
wander  for  retirement  and  pleasure.  Whither  shall 


10  SITE  OF  A   UNIVERSITY. 

the  youthful  student  now  betake  himself,  what  relief 
will  he  find  for  his  eyes,  wearied  with  intense  reading, 
now  that  the  pleasant  stream  is  taken  from  him  ? " 
Two  centuries  and  more  have  passed  since  this  com- 
plaint was  uttered ;  and  time  has  shown  that  the 
outward  calamity,  which  it  recorded,  was  but  the  em- 
blem of  the  great  moral  revolution,  which  was  to 
follow ;  till  the  institution  itself  has  followed  its  green 
meadows,  into  the  region  of  things  which  once  were 
and  now  are  not. — Historical  Sketches,  ed.  1891,  vol.  iii., 
pp.  18-26  (1854). 


Bfm  of  a  TUniversitg  Course. 

TODAY  I  have  confined  myself  to  saying  that  that 
training  of  the  intellect,  which  is  best  for  the  individ- 
ual himself,  best  enables  him  to  discharge  his  duties 
to  society.  The  Philosopher,  indeed,  and  the  man  of 
the  world  differ  in  their  very  notion,  but  the  methods, 
by  which  they  are  respectively  formed,  are  pretty 
much  the  same.  The  Philosopher  has  the  same  com- 
mand of  matters  of  thought,  which  the  true  citizen  and 
gentleman  has  of  matters  of  business  and  conduct.  If 
then  a  practical  end  must  be  assigned  to  a  University 
course,  I  say  it  is  that  of  training  good  members  of 
society.  Its  art  is  the  art  of  social  life,  and  its  end  is 
fitness  for  the  world.  It  neither  confines  its  views  to 
particular  professions  on  the  one  hand,  nor  creates 
heroes  or  inspires  genius  on  the  other.  Works  indeed 
of  genius  fall  under  no  art ;  heroic  minds  come  under 
no  rule ;  a  University  is  not  a  birthplace  of  poets  or 
of  immortal  authors,  of  founders  of  schools,  leaders 
of  colonies,  or  conquerors  of  nations.  It  does  not 
promise  a  generation  of  Aristotles  or  Newtons,  of 
Napoleons  or  Washingtons,  of  Raphaels  or  Shake- 
speares,  though  such  miracles  of  nature  it  has  before 
now  contained  within  its  precincts.  Nor  is  it  content 
on  the  other  hand  with  forming  the  critic  or  the 
experimentalist,  the  economist  or  the  engineer,  though 

ii 


12  THE  AIM  OF  A   UNIVERSITY  COURSE. 

such  too  it  includes  within  its  scope.  But  a  Uni- 
versity training  is  -the  great  ordinary  means  to  a  great 
but  ordinary  end  ;  it  aims  at  raising  the  intellectual 
tone  of  society,  at  cultivating  the  public  mind,  at  puri- 
fying the  national  taste,  at  supplying  true  principles 
to  popular  enthusiasm  and  fixed  aims  to  popular  aspi- 
ration, at  giving  enlargement  and  sobriety  to  the  ideas 
of  the  age,  at  facilitating  the  exercise  of  political 
power,  and  refining  the  intercourse  of  private  life.  It 
is  the  education  which  gives  a  man  a  clear  conscious 
view  of  his  own  opinions  and  judgments,  a  truth  in 
developing  them,  an  eloquence  in  expressing  them, 
and  a  force  in  urging  them.  It  teaches  him  to  see 
things  as  they  are,  to  go  right  to  the  point,  to  disen- 
tangle a  skein  of  thought,  to  detect  what  is  sophistical, 
and  to  discard  what  is  irrelevant.  It  prepares  him  to 
fill  any  post  with  credit,  and  to  master  any  subject 
with  facility.  It  shows  him  how  to  accommodate  him- 
self to  others,  how  to  throw  himself  into  their  state  of 
mind,  how  to  bring  before  them  his  own,  how  to 
influence  them,  how  to  come  to  an  understanding  with 
them,  how  to  bear  with  them.  He  is  at  home  in  any 
society,  he  has  common  ground  with  every  class ;  he 
knows  when  to  speak  and  when  to  be  silent ;  he  is  able 
to  converse,  he  is  able  to  listen  ;  he  can  ask  a  question 
pertinently,  and  gain  a  lesson  seasonably,  when  he  has 
nothing  to  impart  himself ;  he  is  ever  ready,  yet  never 
in  the  way  ;  he  is  a  pleasant  companion,  and  a  com- 
rade you  can  depend  upon ;  he  knows  when  to  be 
serious  and  when  to  trifle,  and  he  has  a  sure  tact 
which  enables  him  to  trifle  with  gracefulness  and  to  be 
serious  with  effect.  He  has  the  repose  of  a  mind 


THE  AIM  OF  A  UNIVERSITY  COURSE.          13 

which  lives  in  itself,  while  it  lives  in  the  world,  and 
which  has  resources  for  its  happiness  at  home  when  it 
cannot  go  abroad.  He  has  a  gift  which  serves  him  in 
public,  and  supports  him  in  retirement,  without  which 
good  fortune  is  but  vulgar,  and  with  which  failure  and 
disappointment  have  a  charm.  The  art  which  tends 
to  make  a  man  all  this,  is  in  the  object  which  it  pur- 
sues as  useful  as  the  art  of  wealth  or  the  art  of  health, 
though  it  is  less  susceptible  of  method,  and  less  tangi- 
ble, less  certain,  less  complete,  in  its  result. — Idea  of 
a  University ',  ed.  1891,  pp.  177-178  (1852). 


dfcan  of  tbe  WorlO. 

PRIDE,  under  such  training,  instead  of  running  to 
waste  in  the  education  of  the  mind,  is  turned  to 
account ;  it  gets  a  new  name  ;  it  is  called  self-respect ; 
and  ceases  to  be  the  disagreeable,  uncompanionable 
quality  which  it  is  in  itself.  Though  it  be  the  motive 
principle  of  the  soul,  it  seldom  comes  to  view  ;  and 
when  it  shows  itself,  then  delicacy  and  gentleness  are 
its  attire,  and  good  sense  and  sense  of  honour  direct 
its  motions.  It  is  no  longer  a  restless  agent,  without 
definite  aim ;  it  has  a  large  field  of  exertion  assigned 
to  it,  and  it  subserves  those  social  interests  which  it 
would  naturally  trouble.  It  is  directed  into  the 
channel  of  industry,  frugality,  honesty,  and  obedience  ; 
and  it  becomes  the  -  very  staple  of  the  religion  and 
morality  held  in  honour  in  a  day  like  our  own.  It 
becomes  the  safeguard  of  chastity,  the  guarantee  of 
veracity,  in  high  and  low  ;  it  is  the  very  household  god 
"of  society,  as  at  present  constituted,  inspiring  neatness 
and  decency  in  the  servant  girl,  propriety  of  carriage 
and  refined  manners  in  her  mistress,  uprightness,  man- 
liness, and  generosity  in  the  head  of  the  family.  It 
diffuses  a  light  over  town  and  country ;  it  covers  the 
soil  with  handsome  edifices  and  smiling  gardens  ;  it 
tills  the  field,  it  stocks  and  embellishes  the  shop.  It 

14 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD.  1 5 

is  the  stimulating  principle  of  providence  on  the  one 
hand,  and  of  free  expenditure  on  the  other ;  of  an 
honourable  ambition,  and  of  elegant  enjoyment.  It 
breathes  upon  the  face  of  the  community,  and  the 
hollow  sepulchre  is  forthwith  beautiful  to  look  upon. 

Refined  by  the  civilization  which  has  brought  it  into 
activity,  this  self-respect  infuses  into  the  mind  an  in- 
tense horror  of  exposure,  and  a  keen  sensitiveness  of 
notoriety  and  ridicule.  It  becomes  the  enemy  of 
extravagances  of  any  kind ;  it  shrinks  from  what  are 
called  scenes ;  it  has  no  mercy  on  the  mock-heroic,  on 
pretence  or  egotism,  on  verbosity  in  language,  or  what 
is  called  prosiness  in  conversation.  It  detests  gross 
adulation  ;  not  that  it  tends  at  all  to  the  eradication  of 
the  appetite  to  which  the  flatterer  ministers,  but  it  sees 
the  absurdity  of  indulging  it,  it  understands  the  an- 
noyance  thereby  given  to  others,  and  if  a  tribute  must 
be  paid  to  the  wealthy  or  the  powerful,  it  demands 
greater  subtlety  and  art  in  the  preparation.  Thus 
vanity  is  changed  into  a  more  dangerous  self-conceit, 
as  being  checked  in  its  natural  eruption.  It  teaches 
men  to  suppress  their  feelings,  and  to  control  their 
tempers,  and  to  mitigate  both  the  severity*  and  the 
tone  of  their  judgments.  As  Lord  Shaftesbury  would 
desire,  it  prefers  playful  wit  and  satire  in  putting  down 
what  is  objectionable,  as  a  more  refined  and  good- 
natured,  as  well  as  a  more  effectual  method,  than  the 
expedient  which  is  natural  to  uneducated  minds. 
It  is  from  this  impatience  of  the  tragic  and  the  bom- 
bastic that  it  is  now  quietly  but  energetically  opposing 
itself  to  the  unchristian  practice  of  duelling,  which  it 
brands  as  simply  out  of  taste,  and  as  the  remnant  of 


1 6  THE  MAN  OF  THE   WORLD. 

a  barbarous  age ;  and  certainly  it  seems  likely  to  effect 
what  Religion  has  aimed  at  abolishing  in  vain. 

Hence  it  is  that  it  is  almost  a  definition  of  a  gentle- 
man to  say  he  is  one  who  never  inflicts  pain.  This 
description  is  both  refined  and,  as  far  as  it  goes, 
accurate.  He  is  mainly  occupied  in  merely  removing 
the  obstacles  which  hinder  the  free  and  unembarrassed 
action  of  those  about  him ;  and  he  concurs  with  their 
movements  rather  than  takes  the  initiative  himself. 
His  benefits  may  be  considered  as  parallel  to  what  are 
called  comforts  or  conveniences  in  arrangements  of  a 
personal  nature  :  like  an  easy-chair  or  a  good  fire, 
which  do  their  part  in  dispelling  cold  and  fatigue, 
though  nature  provides  both  means  of  rest  and  ani- 
mal heat  without  them.  The  true  gentleman  in  like 
manner  carefully  avoids  whatever  may  cause  a  jar  or  a 
jolt  in  the  minds  of  those  with  whom  he  is  cast ; — all 
clashing  of  opinion,  or  collision  of  feeling,  all  restraint, 
or  suspicion,  or  gloom,  or  resentment ;  his  great  con- 
cern being  to  make  every  one  at  their  ease  and  at 
home.  He  has  his  eyes  on  all  his  company  ;  he  is 
tender  towards  the  bashful,  gentle  towards  the  distant, 
and  merciful  towards  the  absurd  ;  he  can  recollect  to 
whom  he  is  speaking ;  he  guards  against  unseasonable 
allusions,  or  topics  which  may  irritate ;  he  is  seldom 
prominent  in  conversation,  and  never  wearisome.  He 
makes  light  of  favours  while  he  does  them,  and  seems 
to  be  receiving  when  he  is  conferring.  He  never 
speaks  of  himself  except  when  compelled,  never  de- 
fends himself  by  a  mere  retort,  he  has  no  ears  for 
slander  or  gossip,  is  scrupulous  in  imputing  motives  to 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD.  17 

'  those  who  interfere  with  him,  and  interprets  every- 
thing for  the  best.  He  is  never  mean  or  little  in  his 
disputes,  never  takes  unfair  advantage,  never  mistakes 
personalities  or  sharp  sayings  for  arguments,  or  insinu- 
ates evil  which  he  dare  not  say  out.  From  a  long- 
sighted prudence,  he  observes  the  maxim  of  the 
ancient  sage,  that  we  should  ever  conduct  ourselves 
towards  our  enemy  as  if  he  were  one  day  to  be  our 
friend.  He  has  too  much  good  sense  to  be  affronted 
at  insults,  he  is  too  well  employed  to  remember 
injuries,  and  too  indolent  to  bear  malice.  He  is 
patient,  forbearing,  and  resigned,  on  philosophical 
principles  ;  he  submits  to  pain,  because  it  is  inevitable, 
to  bereavement,  because  it  is  irreparable,  and  to  death, 
because  it  is  his  destiny.  If  he  engages  in  controversy 
of  any  kind,  his  disciplined  intellect  preserves  him 
from  the  blundering  discourtesy  of  better,  perhaps, 
but  less  educated  minds ;  who,  like  blunt  weapons, 
tear  and  hack  instead  of  cutting  clean,  who  mistake 
the  point  in  argument,  waste  their  strength  on  trifles, 
misconceive  their  adversary,  and  leave  the  question 
more  involved  than  they  find  it.  He  may  be  right  or 
wrong  in  his  opinion,  but  he  is  too  clear-headed  to  be 
unjust ;  he  is  as  simple  as  he  is  forcible,  and  as  brief 
as  he  is  decisive.  Nowhere  shall  we  find  greater  can- 
dor, consideration,  indulgence :  he  throws  himself 
into  the  minds  of  his  opponents,  he  accounts  for  their 
mistakes.  He  knows  the  weakness  of  human  reason 
as  well  as  its  strength,  its  province  and  its  limits.  If 
he  be  an  unbeliever,  he  will  be  too  profound  and 
large-minded  to  ridicule  religion  or  to  act  against  it ; 
he  is  too  wise  to  be  a  dogmatist  or  fanatic  in  his  in- 
2 


1 8  THE  MAN  OF  THE  WORLD. 

fidelity.  He  respects  piety  and  devotion  ;  he  even 
supports  institutions  as  venerable,  beautiful,  or  useful, 
to  which  he  does  not  assent ;  he  honours  the  ministers 
of  religion,  and  it  contents  him  to  decline  its  mysteries 
without  assailing  or  denouncing  them.  He  is  a  friend 
of  religious  toleration,  and  that,  not  only  because  his 
philosophy  has  taught  him  to  look  on  all  forms  of 
faith  with  an  impartial  eye,  but  also  from  the  gentle- 
ness and  effeminacy  of  feeling,  which  is  the  attendant 
on  civilization. 

Not  that  he  may  not  hold  a  religion  too,  in  his  own 
way,  even  when  he  is  not  a  Christian.  In  that  case 
his  religion  is  one  of  imagination  and  sentiment ;  it  is 
the  embodiment  of  those  ideas  of  the  sublime, 
majestic,  and  beautiful,  without  which  there  can  be  no 
large  philosophy.  Sometimes  hie  acknowledges  the 
being  of  God,  sometimes  he  invests  an  unknown 
principle  or  quality  with  the  attributes  of  perfection. 
And  this  deduction  of  his  reason,  or  creation  of  his 
fancy,  he  makes  the  occasion  of  such  excellent 
thoughts,  and  the  starting-point  of  so  varied  and  sys- 
tematic a  teaching,  that  he  even  seems  like  a  disciple 
of  Christianity  itself.  From  the  very  accuracy  and 
steadiness  of  his  logical  powers,  he  is  able  to  see 
what  sentiments  are  consistent  in  those  who  hold  any 
religious  doctrine  at  all,  and  he  appears  to  others  to 
feel  and  to  hold  a  whole  circle  of  theological  truths, 
which  exist  in  his  mind  no  otherwise  than  as  a  number 
of  deductions. — Idea  of  a  University,  ed.  1891,  pp. 
207-211,  (1852). 


fmowle&ge  IDieweD  in  IRelation  to  Xcarning. 

IT  were  well  if  the  English,  like  the  Greek  language, 
possessed  some  definite  word  to  express,  simply  and 
generally,  intellectual  proficiency  or  perfection,  such  as 
"  health,"  as  used  with  reference  to  the  animal  framet 
and  "  virtue,"  with  reference  to  our  moral  nature.  I 
am  not  able  to  find  such  a  term ; — talent,  ability, 
genius,  belong  distinctly  to  the  raw  material,  which  is 
the  subject-matter,  not  to  that  excellence  which  is  the 
result  of  exercise  and  training.  When  we  turn,  indeed, 
to  the  particular  kinds  of  intellectual  perfection,  words 
are  forthcoming  for  our  purpose,  as,  for  instance,  judg- 
ment, taste,  and  skill ;  yet  even  these  belong,  for  the 
most  part,  to  powers  or  habits  bearing  upon  practice  or 
upon  art,  and  not  to  any  perfect  condition  of  the  in- 
tellect, considered  in  itself.  Wisdom,  again,  is  cer, 
tainly  a  more  comprehensive  word  than  any  other, 
but  it  has  a  direct  relation  to  conduct,  and  to  humari 
life.  Knowledge,  indeed,  and  Science  express  purely 
intellectual  ideas,  but  still  not  a  state  or  quality  of  the 
intellect  ;  for  knowledge,  in  its  ordinary  sense,  is  but 
one  of  its  circumstances,  denoting  a  possession  or  a 
habit ;  and  science  has  been  appropriated  to  tho  sub- 
ject-matter of  the  intellect,  instead  of  belonging  HI 
English,  as  it  ought  to  do,  to  the  intellect  itself.  The 
consequence  is  that,  on  an  occasion  like  this,  many 


20    KNOWLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING. 

words  are  necessary,  in  order,  first,  to  bring  out  and 
convey  what  surely  is  no  difficult  idea  in  itself, — that 
of  the  cultivation  of  the  intellect  as  an  end ;  next,  in 
order  to  recommend  what  surely  is  no  unreasonable 
object ;  and  lastly,  to  describe  and  make  the  mind 
realize  the  particular  perfection  in  which  that  object 
consists.  Every  one  knows  practically  what  are  the 
constituents  of  health  or  of  virtue ;  and  every  one 
recognizes  health  and  virtue  as  ends  to  be  pursued; 
it  is  otherwise  with  intellectual  excellence,  and  this 
must  be  my  excuse,  if  I  seem  to  any  one  to  be  bestow- 
ing a  good  deal  of  labour  on  a  preliminary  matter. 

In  default  of  a  recognized  term,  I  have  called  the 
perfection  or  virtue  of  the  intellect  by  the  name  of 
philosophy,  philosophical  knowledge,  enlargement  of 
mind,  or  illumination  ;  terms  which  are  not  uncom- 
monly given  to  it  by  writers  of  this  day  :  but,  whatever 
name  we  bestow  on  it,  it  is,  I  believe,  as  a  matter  of 
history,  the  business  of  a  University  to  make  this  in- 
tellectual culture  its  direct  scope,  or  to  employ  itself 
in  the  education  of  the  intellect, — just  as  the  work  of  a 
Hospital  lies  in  healing  the  sick  or  wounded,  of  a  Rid- 
ing or  Fencing  School,  or  of  a  Gymnasium,  in  exercis- 
ing the  limbs,  of  an  Almshouse,  in  aiding  and  solacing 
the  old,  of  an  Orphanage,  in  protecting  innocence,  of  a 
Penitentiary,  in  restoring  the  guilty.  U  say,  a  Univer- 
sity, taken  in  its  bare  idea,  and  before  we  view  it  as  an 
instrument  of  the  Church,  has  this  object  and  this 
mission  ;  it  contemplates  neither  moral  impression  nor 
y  /mechanical  production ;  it  professes  to  exercise  the 
/  mind  neither  in  art  nor  in  duty  ;  its  function  is  intel- 
lectual culture ;  here  it  may  leave  its  scholars,  and  it 


KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING.     2 1 

has  done  its  work  when  it  has  done  as  much  as  this. 
It  educates  the  intellect  to  reason  well  in  all  matters, 
to  reach  out  towards  truth,  and  to  grasp  it. 

This,  I  said  in  my  foregoing  Discourse,  was  the 
object  of  a  University,  viewed  in  itself,  and  apart  from 
the  Catholic  Church,  or  from  the  State,  or  from  any 
other  power  which  may  use  it ;  and  I  illustrated  this 
in  various  ways.  I  said  that  the  intellect  must  have 
an  excellence  of  its  own,  for  there  was  nothing  which 
had  not  its  specific  good ;  that  the  word  "  educate" 
would  not  be  used  of  intellectual  culture,  as  it  is  used, 
had  not  the  intellect  had  an  end  of  its  own  ;  that,  had 
it  not  such  an  end,  there  would  be  no  meaning  in  call- 
ing certain  intellectual  exercises  "  liberal,"  in  contrast 
with  "  useful,"  as  is  commonly  done  ;  that  the  very 
notion  of  a  philosophical  temper  implied  it,  for  it  threw 
us  back  upon  research  and  system  as  ends  in  them- 
selves, distinct  from  effects  and  works  of  any  kind  ; 
that  a  philosophical  scheme  of  knowledge,  or  system 
of  sciences,  could  not,  from  the  nature  of  the  case, 
issue  in  any  one  definite  art  or  pursuit,  as  its  end ;  and 
that,  on  the  other  hand,  the  discovery  and  contem- 
plation of  truth,  to  which  research  and  systematizing 
led,  were  surely  sufficient  ends,  though  nothing  beyond 
them  were  added,  and  that  they  had  ever  been  ac- 
counted sufficient  by  mankind. 

Here  then  I  take  up  the  subject ;  and,  having  deter- 
mined that  the  cultivation  of  the  intellect  is  an  end 
distinct  and  sufficient  in  itself,  and  that,  so  far  as  words 
go,  it  is  an  enlargement  or  illumination,  I  proceed  to 
inquire  what  this  mental  breadth,  or  power,  or  light,  or 

-- 


2  2    KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEA  RNING. 

philosophy  consists  in.  A  Hospital  heals  a  broken 
limb  or  cures  a  fever  :  what  does  an  Institution  effect, 
which  professes  the  health,  not  of  the  body,  not  of  the 
soul,  but  of  the  intellect  ?  What  is  this  good,  which 
in  former  times,  as  well  as  our  own,  has  been  found 
worth  the  notice,  the  appropriation,  of  the  Catholic 
Church  ? 

I  have  then  to  investigate,  in  the  Discourses  which 
follow,  those  qualities  and  characteristics  of  the  in- 
tellect in  which  its  cultivation  issues  or  rather  con- 
sists ;  and,  with  a  view  of  assisting  myself  in  this  un- 
dertaking, I  shall  recur  to  certain  questions  which 
have  already  been  touched  upon.  These  questions 
are  three  :  viz.  the  relation  of  intellectual  culture,  first, 
to  mere  knowledge  ;  secondly,  to  professional  knowl- 
edge ;  and  thirdly,  to  religious  knowledge.  In  other 
words,  are  acquirements  and  attainments  the  scope  of  a 
University  Education  ?  or  expertnesss  in  particular  arts 
and  pursuits  ?  or  moral  and  religious  proficiency  ?  or 
something  besides  these  three  ?  These  questions  I 
shall  examine  in  succession,  with  the  purpose  I  have 
mentioned  ;  and  I  hope  to  be  excused,  if,  in  this  anx- 
ious undertaking,  I  am  led  to  repeat  what,  either  in 
these  Discourses  or  elsewhere,  I  have  already  put 
upon  paper.  And  first,  of  Mere  Knowledge,  or  Learning, 
and  its  connection  with  intellectual  illumination  ot 
Philosophy. 

I  suppose  the  prima-facie  view  which  the  public  at 
large  would  take  of  a  University,  considering  it  as 
a  place  of  Education,  is  nothing  more  or  less  than 
a  place  for  acquiring  %a  great  deal  of  knowledge  on  a 


KNO  WLEDGE  Iff  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING.    23 

great  many  subjects.  Memory  is  one  of  the  first  de- 
veloped of  the  mental  faculties  ;  a  boy's  business  when 
he  goes  to  school  is  to  learn,  that  is,  to  store  up  things 
in  his  memory.  For  some  years  his  intellect  is  little 
more  than  an  instrument  for  taking  in  facts,  or  a  re- 
ceptacle for  storing  them  ;  he  welcomes  them  as  fast  as 
they  come  to  him  ;  he  lives  on  what  is  without ;  he  has 
his  eyes  ever  about  him ;  he  has  a  lively  susceptibility 
of  impressions ;  he  imbibes  information  of  every  kind  ; 
and  little  does  he  make  his  own  in  a  true  sense  of  the 
word,  living  rather  upon  his  neighbours  all  around  him. 
He  has  opinions,  religious,  political  and  literary,  and, 
for  a  boy,  is  very  positive  in  them  and  sure  about 
them  ;  but  he  gets  them  from  his  schoolfellows,  or  his 
masters,  or  his  parents,  as  the  case  may  be.  Such  as 
he  is  in  his  other  relations,  such  also  is  he  in  his  school 
exercises  ;  his  mind  is  observant,  sharp,  ready,  reten- 
tive ;  he  is  almost  passive  in  the  acquisition  of  knowl- 
edge. I  say  this  in  no  disparagement  of  the  idea  of 
a  clever  boy.  Geography,  chronology,  history,  lan- 
guage, natural  history,  he  heaps  up  the  matter  of  these 
studies  as  treasures  for  a  future  day.  It  is  the  seven 
years  of  plenty  with  him  :  he  gathers  in  by  handfuls, 
like  the  Egyptians,  without  counting;  and  though,  as 
time  goes  on,  there  is  exercise  for  his  argumenta- 
tive powers  in  the  Elements  of  Mathematics,  and  for 
his  taste  in  the  Poets  and  Orators,  still,  while  at 
school,  or  at  least,  till  quite  the  last  years  of  his  time, 
he  acquires,  and  little  more  ;  and  when  he  is  leaving  for 
the  University,  he  is  mainly  the  creature  of  foreign 
influences  and  circumstances,  and  made  up  of  acci- 
dents, homogeneous  or  not,  as  the  case  may  be.  More- 


24  KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING. 

over,  the  moral  habits,  which  are  a  boy's  praise,  en- 
courage and  assist  this  result ;  that  is,  diligence, 
assiduity,  regularity,  despatch,  persevering  applica- 
tion ;  for  these  are  the  direct  conditions  of  acquisition, 
and  naturally  lead  to  it.  (  Acquirements,  again,  are 
emphatically  producible,  and  at  a  moment ;  they  are  a 
something  to  show,  both  for  master  and  scholar  ;  an 
audience,  even  though  ignorant  themselves  of  the 
subject  of  an  examination,  can  comprehend  when 
questions  are  answered  and  when  they  are  not.  Here 
again  is  a  reason  why  mental  culture  is  in  the  minds 
of  men  identified  with  the  acquisition  of  knowledge. 
The  same  notion  possesses  the  public  mind,  when  it 
passes  on  from  the  thought  of  a  school  to  that  of  a 
University  :  and  with  the  best  of  reasons  so  far  as  this, 
that  there  is  no  true  culture  without  acquirements,  and 
that  philosophy  presupposes  knowledge.  It  requires  a 
great  deal  of  reading,  or  a  wide  range  of  information, 
to  warrant  us  in  putting  forth  our  opinions  on  any  seri- 
ous subject ;  and  without  such  learning  the  most  orig- 
inal mind  may  be  able  indeed  to  dazzle,  to  amuse,  to 
refute,  to  perplex,  but  not  to  come  to  any  useful  result 
or  any  trustworthy  conclusion.  There  are  indeed  per- 
sons who  profess  a  different  view  of  the  matter,  and 
even  act  upon  it.  Every  now  and  then  you  will  find  a 
person  of  vigorous  or  fertile  mind,  who  relies  upon  his 
own  resources,  despises  all  former  authors,  and  gives 
the  world,  with  the  utmost  fearlessness,  his  views  upon 
religion,  or  history,  or  any  other  popular  subject.  And 
his  works  may  sell  for  a  while  ;  he  may  get  a  name  in 
his  day  ;  but  this  will  be  all.  His  readers  are  sure  to 
find  on  the  long  run  that  his  doctrines  are  mere 


KNO  WLEDGE  IN RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING     25 

theories,  and  not  the  expression  of  facts,  that  they  are 
chaff  instead  of  bread,  and  then  his  popularity  drops 
as  suddenly  as  it  rose. 

Knowledge  then  is  the  indispensable  condition  of 
expansion  of  mind,  and  the  instrument  of  attaining  to 
it ;  this  cannot  be  denied,  it  is  ever  to  be  insisted  on  ; 
I  begin  with  it  as  a  first  principle  ;  however,  the  very 
truth  of  it  carries  men  too  far,  and  confirms  to  them 
the  notion  that  it  is  the  whole  of  the  matter.  A  nar- 
row mind  is  thought  to  be  that  which  contains  little 
knowledge  ;  and  an  enlarged  mind,  that  which  holds  a 
great  deal ;  and  what  seems  to  put  the  matter  beyond 
dispute  is,  the  fact  of  the  great  number  of  studies 
which  are  pursued  in  a  University,  by  its  very  profes- 
sion. Lectures  are  given  on  every  kind  of  subject ; 
examinations  are  held ;  prizes  awarded.  There  are 
moral,  metaphysical,  physical  Professors  ;  Professors 
of  languages,  of  history,  of  mathematics,  of  experi- 
mental science.  Lists  of  questions  are  published, 
wonderful  for  their  range  and  depth,  variety  and  diffi- 
culty ;  treatises  are  written,  which  carry  upon  their  very 
face  the  evidence  of  extensive  reading  or  multifarious 
information ;  what  then  is  wanting  for  mental  culture 
to  a  person  of  large  reading  and  scientific  attainments  ? 
what  is  grasp  of  mind  but  acquirement  ?  where  shall 
philosophical  repose  be  found,  but  in  the  conscious- 
ness and  enjoyment  of  large  intellectual  possessions  ? 

And  yet  this  notion  is,  I  conceive,  a  mistake,  and 
my  present  business  is  to  show  that  it  is  one,  and  that 
the  end  of  a  Liberal  Education  is  not  mere  knowledge, 
or  knowledge  considered  in  its  matter ;  and  I  shall 
best  attain  my  object,  by  actually  setting  down  some 


26     KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING. 

cases,  which  will  be  generally  granted  to  be  instances 
of  the  process  of  enlightenment  or  enlargement  of 
mind,  and  others  which  are  not,  and  thus,  by  the  com- 
parison, you  will  be  able  to  judge  for  yourselves,  Gen- 
tlemen, whether  Knowledge,  that  is,  acquirement,  is 
after  all  the  real  principle  of  the  enlargement,  or 
whether  that  principle  is  not  rather  something  be- 
yond it. 

For  instance,*  let  a  person,  whose  experience  has 
hitherto  been  confined  to  the  more  calm  and  unpre- 
tending scenery  of  these  islands,  whether  here  or  in 
England,  go  for  the  first  time  into  parts  where  physical 
nature  puts  on  her  wilder  and  more  awful  forms, 
whether  at  home  or  abroad,  as  into  mountainous  dis- 
tricts ;  or  let  one,  who  has  ever  lived  in  a  quiet  village, 
go  for  the  first  time  to  a  great  metropolis, — then  I  sup- 
pose he  will  have  a  sensation  which  perhaps  he  never 
had  before.  He  has  a  feeling  not  in  addition  or  in- 
crease of  former  feelings,  but  of  something  different  in 
its  nature.  He  will  perhaps  be  borne  forward,  and 
find  for  a  time  that  he  has  lost  his  bearings.  He  has 
made  a  certain  progress,  and  he  has  a  consciousness  of 
mental  enlargement ;  he  does  not  stand  where  he  did, 
.  he  has  a  new  centre,  and  a  range  of  thoughts  to  which 
he  was  before  a  stranger. 

Again,  the  view  of  the  heavens  which  the  telescope 
opens  upon  us,  if  allowed  to  fill  and  possess  the  mind, 
may  almost  whirl  it  round  and  make  it  dizzy.  It 

*  The  pages  which  follow  are  taken  almost  verbatim  from  the 
author's  I4th  (Oxford)  University  Sermon,  which,  at  the  time  of 
writing  this  Discourse,  he  did  not  expect  ever  to  reprint. 


KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  T10N  TO  LEARNitiG.    2 7 

brings  in  a  flood  of  ideas,  and  is  rightly  called  an  in- 
tellectual enlargement,  whatever  is  meant  by  the  term. 

And  so  again,  the  sight  of  beasts  of  prey  and  other 
foreign  animals,  their  strangeness,  the  originality  (if 
I  may  use  the  term)  of  their  forms  and  gestures  and 
habits,  and  their  variety  and  independence  of  "each 
other,  throw  us  out  of  ourselves  into  another  creation, 
and  as  if  under  another  Creator,  if  I  may  so  express 
the  temptation  which  may  come  on  the  mind.  We 
seem  to  have  new  faculties,  or  a  new  exercise  for 
our  faculties,  by  this  addition  to  our  knowledge  ;  like 
a  prisoner,  who,  having  been  accustomed  to  wear 
manacles  or  fetters,  suddenly  finds  his  arms  and  legs 
free. 

Hence  Physical  Science  generally,  in  all  its  depart- 
ments, as  bringing  before  us  the  exuberant  riches  and 
resources,  yet  the  orderly  course,  of  the  Universe, 
elevates  and  excites  the  student,  and  at  first,  I  may 
say,  almost  takes  away  his  breath,  while  in  time  it 
exercises  a  tranquillizing  influence  upon  him. 

Again,  the  study  of  history  is  said  to  enlarge  and 
enlighten  the  mind,  and  why  ?  because,  as  I  conceive, 
it  gives  it  a  power  of  judging  of  passing  events,  and  of 
all  events,  and  a  conscious  superiority  over  them, 
which  before  it  did  not  possess. 

And  in  like  manner,  what  is  called  seeing  the  world, 
entering  into  active  life,  going  into  society,  travelling, 
gaining  acquaintance  with  the  various  classes  of  the 
community,  coming  into  contact  with  the  principles 
and  modes  of  thought  of  various  parties,  interests,  and 
races,  their  views,  aims,  habits  and  manners,  their 
religious  creeds  and  forms  of  worship, — gaining  ex- 


28    KNO  WLEDGE  IN RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING. 

perience  how  various  yet  how  alike  men  are,  how  low- 
minded,  how  bad,  how  opposed,  yet  how  confident  in 
their  opinions ;  all  this  exerts  a  perceptible  influence 
upon  the  mind,  which  it  is  impossible  to  mistake,  be  it 
good  or  be  it  bad,  and  is  popularly  called  its  enlarge- 
ment. 

And  then  again,  the  first  time  the  mind  comes 
across  the  arguments  and  speculations  of  unbelievers, 
and  feels  what  a  novel  light  they  cast  upon  what  he 
has  hitherto  accounted  sacred  ;  and  still  more,  if  it 
gives  in  to  them  and  embraces  them,  and  throws  off  as 
so  much  prejudice  what  it  has  hitherto  held,  and,  as  if 
waking  from  a  dream,  begins  to  realize  to  its  imagina- 
tion that  there  is  now  no  such  thing  as  law  and  the 
transgression  of  law,  that  sin  is  a  phantom,  and 
punishment  a  bugbear,  that  it  is  free  to  sin,  free  to 
enjoy  the  world  and  the  flesh ;  and  still  further,  when 
it  does  enjoy  them,  and  reflects  that  it  may  think  and 
hold  just  what  it  will,  that  "  the  world  is  all  before  it 
where  to  choose,"  and  what  system  to  build  up  as 
its  own  private  persuasion  ;  when  this  torrent  of  wil- 
ful thoughts  rushes  over  and  inundates  it,  who  will 
deny  that  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  or  what 
the  mind  takes  for  knowledge,  has  made  it  one  of  the 
gods,  with  a  sense  of  expansion  and  elevation, — an 
intoxication  in  reality,  still,  so  far  as  the  subjective 
state  of  the  mind  goes,  an  illumination  ?  Hence  the 
fanaticism  of  individuals  or  nations,  who  suddenly 
cast  off  their  Maker.  Their  eyes  are  opened ;  and, 
like  the  judgment-stricken  king  in  the  Tragedy,  they 
see  two  suns,  and  a  magic  universe,  out  of  which  they 
look  back  upon  their  former  state  of  faith  and  in- 


KNOWLEDGE  IN  RELA  T1ON  TO  LEARNING.     29 

nocence  with  a  sort  of  contempt  and  indignation,  as 
if  they  were  then  but  fools,  and  the  dupes  of  im- 
posture. 

On  the  other  hand,  Religion  has  its  own  enlarge- 
ment, and  an  enlargement,  not  of  tumult,  but  of  peace. 
It  is  often  remarked  of  uneducated  persons,  who  have 
hitherto  thought  little  of  the  unseen  world,  that,  on 
their  turning  to  God,  looking  into  themselves,  regulat- 
ing their  hearts,  reforming  their  conduct,  and  medi- 
tating on  death  and  judgment,  heaven  and  hell,  they 
seem  to  become,  in  point  of  intellect,  different  beings 
from  what  they  were.  Before,  they  took  things  as 
they  came,  and  thought  no  more  of  one  thing  than 
another.  But  now  every  event  has  a  meaning ;  they 
have  their  own  estimate  of  whatever  happens  to  them  ; 
they  are  mindful  of  times  and  seasons,  and  compare 
the  present  with  the  past ;  and  the  world,  no  longer 
dull,  monotonous,  unprofitable,  and  hopeless,  is  a  vari- 
ous and  complicated  drama,  with  parts  and  an  object, 
and  an  awful  moral. 

Now  from  these  instances,  to  which  many  more 
might  be  added,  it  is  plain,  first,  that  the  communi- 
cation of  knowledge  certainly  is  either  a  condition  or 
the  means  of  that  sense  of  enlargement,  or  enlighten- 
ment of  which  at  this  day  we  hear  so  much  in  certain 
quarters  :  this  cannot  be  denied  ;  but  next,  it  is  equally 
plain,  that  such  communication  is  not  the  whole  of  the 
process.  ^"The  enlargement  consists,  not  merely  in  the 
passive  reception  into  the  mind  of  a  number  of  ideas 
hitherto  unknown  to  it,  but  in  the  mind's  energetic 
and  simultaneous  action  upon  and  towards  and  among 
those  new  ideas,  which  are  rushing  in  upon  it.  It  is 


30    KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TfON  TO  LEARNING. 

the  action  of  a  formative  power,  reducing  to  order  and 
meaning  the  matter  of  our  acquirements  ;  it  is  a  mak- 
ing the  objects  of  our  knowledge  subjectively  our  own, 
or,  to  use  a  familiar  word,  it  is  a  digestion  of  what  we 
receive,  into  the  substance  of  our  previous  state  of 
thought ;  and  without  this  no  enlargement  is  said  to 
follow.  There  is  no  enlargement,  unless  there  be  a 
comparison  of  ideas  one  with  another,  as  they  come 
before  the  mind,  and  a  systematizing  of  them.  We 
feel  our  minds  to  be  growing  and  expanding  then, 
when  we  not  only  learn,  but  refer  what  we  learn  to 
what  we  know  already.  It  is  not  the  mere  addition 
to  our  knowledge  that  is  the  illumination  ;  but  the 
locomotion,  the  movement  onwards,  of  that  mental 
centre,  to  which  both  what  we  know,  and  what  we  are 
learning,  the  accumulating  mass  of  our  acquirements, 
gravitates.  And  therefore  a  truly  great  intellect,  and 
recognized  to  be  such  by  the  common  opinion  of  man- 
kind, such  as  the  intellect  of  Aristotle,  or  of  St. 
Thomas,  or  of  Newton,  or  of  Goethe  (I  purposely 
take  instances  within  and  without  the  Catholic  pale, 
when  I  would  speak  of  the  intellect  as  such),  is  one 
which  takes  a  connected  view  of  old  and  new,  past 
and  present,  far  and  near,  and  which  has  an  insight 
into  the  influence  of  all  these  one  on  another  ;  without 
which  there  is  no  whole,  and  no  centre.  It  possesses 
the  knowledge,  not  only  of  things,  but  also  of  their 
mutual  and  true  relations ;  knowledge,  not  merely  con- 
sidered as  acquirement  but  as  philosophy. 

Accordingly,  when  this  analytical,  distributive,  har- 
monizing process  is  away,  the  mind  experiences  no 
enlargement,  and  is  not  reckoned  as  enlightened  or 


KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING.    3 1 

comprehensive,  whatever  it  may  add  to  its  knowledge. 
For  instance,  a  great  memory,  as  I  have  already  said,  /}  I  ] 
does  not  make  a  philosopher,  any  more  than  a  diction- 
ary can  be  called  a  grammar.  There  are  men  who 
embrace  in  their  minds  a  vast  multitude  of  ideas,  but 
with  little  sensibility  about  their  real  relations  towards 
each  other.  These  may  be  antiquarians,  annalists, 
naturalists  ;  they  may  be  learned  in  the  law  ;  they  may 
be  versed  in  statistics  ;  they  are  most  useful  in  their 
own  place ;  I  should  shrink  from  speaking  disrespect- 
fully of  them  ;  still,  there  is  nothing  in  such  attain- 
ments to  guarantee  the  absence  of  narrowness  of  mind. 
If  they  are  nothing  more  than  well-read  men,  or  men  ' 
of  information,  they  have  not  what  specially  deserves 
the  name  of  culture  of  mind,  or  fulfils  the  type  of 
Liberal  Education. 

In  like  manner,  we  sometimes  fall  in  with  persons 
who  have  seen  much  of  the  world,  and  of  the  men 
who,  in  their  day,  have  played  a  conspicuous  part  in  it, 
but  who  generalize  nothing,  and  have  no  observation, 
in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  They  abound  in  infor- 
mation in  detail,  curious  and  entertaining,  about  men 
and  things  ;  and,  having  lived  under  the  influence  of 
no  very  clear  or  settled  principles,  religious  or  politi-  • 
cal,  they  speak  of  every  one  and  every  thing,  only  as 
so  many  phenomena,  which  are  complete  in  them- 
selves, and  lead  to  nothing,  not  discussing  them,  or 
teaching  any  truth,  or  instructing  the  hearer,  but 
simply  talking.  No  one  would  say  that  these  persons, 
well  informed  as  they  are,  had  attained  to  any  great 
culture  of  intellect  or  to  philosophy. 

The  case  is  the  same  still  more  strikingly  where  the 


32    KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING. 

persons  in  question  are  beyond  dispute  men  of  inferior 
powers  and  deficient  education.  Perhaps  they  have 
been  much  in  foreign  countries,  and  they  receive,  in  a 
passive,  otiose,  unfruitful  way,  the  various  facts  which 
are  forced  upon  them  there.  Seafaring  men,  for  exam- 
ple, range  from  one  end  of  the  earth  to  the  other ;  but 
the  multiplicity  of  external  objects,  which  they  have 
encountered,  forms  no  symmetrical  and  consistent 
picture  upon  their  imagination  ;  they  see  the  tapestry 
of  human  life,  as  it  were  on  the  wrong  side,  and  it  tells 
no  storyf?  They  sleep,  and  they  rise  up,  and  they  find 
themselves,  now  in  Europe,  now  in  Asia ;  they  see 
visions  of  great  cities  and  wild  regions ;  they  are  in  the 
marts  of  commerce,  or  amid  the  islands  of  the  South  ; 
they  gaze  on  Pompey's  Pillar,  or  on  the  Andes ;  and 
nothing  which  meets  them  carries  them  forward  or 
backward,  to  any  idea  beyond  itself.  Nothing  has  a 
drift  or  relation ;  nothing  has  a  history  or  a  promise. 
Every  thing  stands  by  itself,  and  comes  and  goes  in  its 
turn,  like  the  shifting  scenes  of  a  show,  which  leave 
the  spectator  where  he  was.  Perhaps  you  are  near 
such  a  man  on  a  particular  occasion,  and  expect  him 
to  be  shocked  or  perplexed  at  something  which  occurs  ; 
but  one  thing  is  much  the  same  to  him  as  another,  or, 
if  he  is  perplexed,  it  is  as  not  knowing  what  to  say, 
whether  it  is  right  to  admire,  or  to  ridicule,  or  to  dis- 
approve, while  conscious  that  some  expression  of 
opinion  is  expected  from  him  ;  for  in  fact  he  has  no 
standard  of  judgment  at  all,  and  no  landmarks  to 
guide  him  to  a  conclusion.  Such  is  mere  acquisition, 
and,  I  repeat,  no  one  would  dream  of  calling  it 
philosophy. 


KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RE  LA  TION  TO  LEARNING.    33 

Instances,  such  as  these,  confirm,  by  the  contrast, 
the  conclusion  I  have  already  drawn  from  those  which 
preceded  them,  f  That  only  is  true  enlargement  of 
mind  which  is  the  power  of  viewing  many  things  at 
once  as  one  whole,  of  referring  them  severally  to  their 
true  place  in  the  universal  system,  of  understanding 
their  respective  values,  and  determining  their  mutual 
dependence.  Thus  is  that  form  of  Universal  Knowl- 
edge, of  which  I  have  on  a  former  occasion  spoken, 
set  up  in  the  individual  intellect,  and  constitutes  its 
perfection.  Possessed  of  this  real  illumination,  the 
mind  never  views  any  part  of  the  extended  subject- 
matter  of  Knowledge  without  recollecting  that  it  is  but 
a  part,  or  without  the  associations  which  spring  from 
this  recollection.  It  makes  everything  in  some  sort 
lead  to  everything  else  ;  it  would  communicate  the 
image  of  the  whole  to  every  separate  portion,  till  that 
whole  becomes  in  imagination  like  a  spirit,  everywhere 
pervading  and  penetrating  its  component  parts,  and 
giving  them  one  definite  meaning.  Just  as  our  bodily 
organs,  when  mentioned,  recall  their  function  in  the 
body,  as  the  word  "  creation  "  suggests  the  Creator, 
and  "  subjects  "  a  sovereign,  so,  in  the  mind  of  the 
Philosopher,  as  we  are  abstractedly  conceiving  of  him, 
the  elements  of  the  physical  and  moral  world,  sciences, 
arts,  pursuits,  ranks,  offices,  events,  opinions,  individ- 
ualities, are  all  viewed  as  one,  with  correlative  func- 
tions, and  as  gradually  by  successive  combinations 
converging,  one  and  all,  to  the  true  centre. 

To  have  even  a  portion  of  this  illuminative  reason 
and  true  philosophy  is  the  highest  state  to  which 
nature  can  aspire,  in  the  way  of  intellect ;  it  puts  the 
3 


34    AW0  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING. 

mind  above  the  influences  of  chance  and  necessity, 
above  anxiety,  suspense,  unsettlement,  and  supersti- 
tion, which  is  the  lot  of  the  many.  Men,  whose  minds 
are  possessed  with  some  one  object,  take  exaggerated 
views  of  its  importance,  are  feverish  in  the  pursuit  of 
it,  make  it  the  measure  of  things  which  are  utterly 
foreign  to  it,  and  are  startled  and  despond  if  it 
happens  to  fail  them.  They  are  ever  in  alarm  or 
in  transport.  Those  on  the  other  hand  who  have 
no  object  or  principle  whatever  to  hold  by,  lose  their 
way  every  step  they  take.  They  are  thrown  out, 
and  do  not  know  what  to  think  or  say,  at  every  fresh 
juncture;  they  have  no  view  of  persons,  or  occur- 
rences, or  facts,  which  come  suddenly  upon  them,  and 
they  hang  upon  the  opinion  of  others  for  want  of 
internal  resources.  But  the  intellect,  which  has  been 
disciplined  to  the  perfection  of  its  powers,  which 
knows,  and  thinks  while  it  knows,  which  has  learned 
to  leaven  the  dense  mass  of  facts  and  events  with  the 
elastic  force  of  reason,  such  an  intellect  cannot  be 
partial,  cannot  be  exclusive,  cannot  be  impetuous, 
cannot  be  at  a  loss,  cannot  but  be  patient,  col- 
lected, and  majestically  calm,  because  it  discerns  the 
end  in  every  beginning,  the  origin  in  every  end,  the 
law  in  every  interruption,  the  limit  in  each  delay ;  be- 
cause it  ever  knows  where  it  stands,  and  how  its 
path  lies  from  one  point  to  another.  It  is  the 
rerpdyuvos  of  the  Peripatetic,  and  has  the  "nil  ad- 
mirari  "  of  the  Stoic, — 

Felix  qui  potuit  rerum  cognoscere  causas, 
Atque  metus  omnes,  et  inexorabile  fatum 
Subjecit  pedibus,  strepitumque  Acherontis  avari. 


KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEA  RNING.    3  5 

There  are  men  who,  when  in  difficulties,  originate 
at  the  moment  vast  ideas  or  dazzling  projects ;  who,  /  ] 
under  the  influence  of  excitement,  are  able  to  cast 
a  light,  almost  as  if  from  inspiration,  on  a  subject 
or  course  of  action  which  comes  before  them ;  who 
have  a  sudden  presence  of  mind  equal  to  any  emer- 
gency, rising  with  the  occasion,  and  an  undaunted 
magnanimous  bearing,  and  an  energy  and  keenness 
which  is  but  made  intense  by  opposition.  This  is 
genius,  this  is  heroism;  it  is  the  exhibition  of  a 
natural  gift,  which  no  culture  can  teach,  at  which  no 
Institution  can  aim :  here,  on  the  contrary,  we  are  con- 
cerned, not  with  mere  nature,  but  with  training  and 
teach  ing. -^Th  at  perfection  of  the  Intellect,  which  is 
the  result  of  Education,  and  its  beau  ideal,  to  be  im- 
parted to  individuals  in  their  respective  measures, 
is  the  clear,  calm,  accurate  vision  and  comprehension 
of  all  things,  as  far  as  the  finite  mind  can  embrace 
them,  each  in  its  place,  and  with  its  own  characteris- 
tics upon  it.  It  is  almost  prophetic  from  its  knowledge 
of  history;  it  is  almost  heart-searching  from  its 
knowledge  of  human  nature ;  it  has  almost  super- 
natural charity  from  its  freedom  from  littleness  and 
prejudice ;  it  has  almost  the  repose  of  faith,  because 
nothing  can  startle  it ;  it  has  almost  the  beauty  and 
harmony  of  heavenly  contemplation,  so  intimate  is  it 
with  the  eternal  order  of  things  and  the  music  of  the 
spheres. 

And  now,  if  I  may  take  for  granted  that  the  true 
and  adequate  end  of  intellectual  training  and  of  a 
University  is  not  Learning  or  Acquirement,  but  rather, 
is  Thought  or  Reason  exercised  upon  Knowledge,  or 


36    KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING. 

what   may   be   called    Philosophy,    I    shall    be    in    a 
position  to  explain  the  various  mistakes  which  at  the 

present  day  beset  the  subject  of  University  Education. 

******* 

I  will  tell  you,  Gentlemen,  what  has  been  the  practical 
error  of  the  last  twenty  years, — not  to  load  the  memory 
of  the  student  with  a  mass  of  undigested  knowledge, 
.  w  but  to  force  upon  him  so  much  that  he  has  rejected  all. 
It  has  been  the  error  of  distracting  and  enfeebling 
-  the  mind  by  an  unmeaning  profusion  of  subjects  ;  of 
implying  that  a  smattering  in  a  dozen  branches  of 
study  is  not  shallowness,  which  it  really  is,  but  enlarge- 
ment, which  it  is  not ;  of  considering  an  acquaintance 
with  the  learned  names  of  things  and  persons,  and 
the  possession  of  clever  duodecimos,  and  attendance 
of  on  eloquent  lecturers,  and  membership  with  scientific 
institutions,  and  the  sight  of  the  experiments  of  a 
platform  and  the  specimens  of  a  museum,  that  all  this 
was  not  dissipation  of  mind,  but  progress.  All  things 
now  are  to  be  learned  at  once,  not  first  one  thing, 
then  another,  not  one  well,  but  many  badly.  Learning 
is  to  be  without  exertion,  without  attention,  without 
toil  ;  without  grounding,  without  advance,  without 
finishing.  There  is  to  be  nothing  individual  in  it ;  and 
this,  forsooth,  is  the  wonder  of  the  age.  What  the 
steam  engine  does  with  matter,  the  printing-press  is 
to  do  with  mind  ;  it  is  to  act  mechanically,  and  the 
population  is  to  be  passively,  almost  unconsciously 
enlightened,  by  the  mere  multiplication  and  dissemina- 
tion of  volumes.  Whether  it  be  the  school-boy,  or 
the  school-girl,  or  the  youth  at  college,  or  the  mechanic 
in  the  town,  or  the  politician  in  the  senate,  all  have 


KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING.    3 7 

been  the  victims  in  one  way  or  other  of  this  most 
preposterous  and  pernicious  of  delusions.  Wise  men 
have  lifted  up  their  voices  in  vain  ;  and  at  length,  lest 
their  own  institutions  should  be  outshone  and  should 
disappear  in  the  folly  of  the  hour,  they  have  been 
obliged,  as  far  as  they  could  with  a  good  conscience, 
to  humour  a  spirit  which  they  could  not  withstand,  and 
make  temporizing  concessions  at  which  they  could 
not  but  inwardly  smile. 

******* 

I  protest  to  you,  Gentlemen,  that  if  I  had  to  choose 
between  a  so-called  University,  which  dispensed  with 
residence  and  tutorial  superintendence,  and  gave  its 
degrees  to  any  person  who  passed  an  examination  in  a 
wide  range  of  subjects,  and  a  University  which  had  no 
professors  or  examinations  at  all,  bujt  merely  brought  a 
number  of  young  men  together  for  three  or  four  years, 
and  then  sent  them  away  as  the  University  of  Oxford 
is  said  to  have  done  some  sixty  years  since,  if  I  were  f J] 
asked  which  of  these  two  methods  was  the  better  dis- 
cipline of  the  intellect, — mind,  I  do  not  say  which  is 
morally  the  better,  for  it'  is  plain  that  compulsory 
study  must  be  a  good  and  idleness  an  intolerable  mis- 
chief,— but  if  I  must  determine  which  of  the  two 
courses  was  the  more  successful  in  training,  moulding, 
enlarging  the  mind,  which  sent  out  men  the  more 
fitted  for  their  secular  duties,  which  produced  better 
public  men,  men  of  the  world,  men  whose  names  would 
descend  to  posterity,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  giving 
the  preference  to  that  University  which  did  nothing, 
over  that  which  exacted  of  its  members  an  acquaint- 
ance with  every  science  under  the  sun.  And,  paradox 

270404 


38    KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING. 

as  this  may  seem,  still  if  results  be  the  test  of  systems, 
the  influence  of  the  public  schools  and  colleges  of 
England,  in  the  course  of  the  last  century,  at  least  will 
bear  out  one  side  of  the  contrast  as  I  have  drawn 
it.  What  would  come,  on  the  other  hand,  of  the  ideal 
systems  of  education  which  have  fascinated  the  im- 
agination of  this  age,  could  they  ever  take  effect, 
and  whether  they  would  not  produce  a  generation 
frivolous,  narrow-minded,  and  resourceless,  intellect- 
ually considered,  is  a  fair  subje,ct  for  debate ;  but  so 
.far  is  certain,  that  the  Universities  and  scholastic 
establishments,  to  which  I  refer,  and  which  did  little 
more  than  bring  together  first  boys  and  then  youths  in 
large  numbers,  these  institutions,  with  miserable  de- 
formities on  the  side  of  morals,  with  a  hollow  profes- 
sion of  Christianity,  and  a  heathen  code  of  ethics, — I 
say,  at  least  they  can  boast  of  a  succession  of  heroes 
and  statesmen,  of  literary  men  and  philosophers,  of 
men  conspicuous  for  great  natural  virtues,  for  habits 
of  business,  for  knowledge  of  life,  for  practical  judg- 
ment, for  cultivated  tastes,  for  accomplishments,  who 
have  made  England  what '  it  is, — able  to  subdue  the 
earth,  able  to  domineer  over  Catholics. 

How  is  this  to  be  explained?  I  suppose  as  follows  : 
When  a  multitude  of  young  men,  keen,  open-hearted, 
sympathetic,  and  observant,  as  young  men  are,  come 
together  and  freely  mix  with  each  other,  they  are  sure 
to  learn  one  from  another,  even  if  there  be  no  one  to 
teach  them ;  the  conversation  of  all  is  a  series  of 
lectures  to  each,  and  they  gain  for  themselves  new 
ideas  and  views,  fresh  matter  of  thought,  and  distinct 
principles  for  judging  and  acting,  day  by  day.  An 


KNOWLEDGE  IN  R  EL  A  TfON  TO  LEARNING. 


39 


infant  has  to  learn  the  meaning  of  the  information 
which  its  senses  convey  to  it,  and  this  seems  to  be  its 
employment.  It  fancies  all  that  the  eye  presents  to  it 
to  be  close  to  it,  till  it  actually  learns  the  contrary,  and 
thus  by  practice  does  it  ascertain  the  relations  and 
uses  of  those  first  elements  of  knowledge  which  are 
necessary  for  its  animal  existence.  A  parallel  teach- 
ing is  necessary  for  our  social  being,  and  it  is  secured 
by  a  large  school  or  a  college  ;  and  this  effect  may  be 
fairly  called  in  its  own  department  an  enlargement  of 
mind.  It  is  seeing  the  world  on  a  small  field  with 
little  trouble  ;  for  the  pupils  or  students  come  from 
very  different  places,  and  with  widely  different  no- 
tions, and  there  is  much  to  generalize,  much  to  adjust, 
much  to  eliminate,  there  are  inter-relations  to  be 
defined,  and  conventional  rules  to  be  established, 
in  the  process,  by  which  the  whole  assemblage  is 
moulded  together,  and  gains  one  tone  and  one  char- 
acter. 

Let  it  be  clearly  understood,  I  repeat  it,  that  I  am 
not  taking  into  account  moral  or  religious  considera- 
tions ;  I  am  but  saying  that  that  youthful  community 
will  constitute  a  whole,  it  will  embody  a  specific  idea, 
it  will  represent  a  doctrine,  it  will  administer  a  code  of 
conduct,  and  it  will  furnish  principles  of  thought  and 
action.'* It  will  give  birth  to  a  living  teaching,  which  in 
course  of  time  will  take  the  shape  of  a  self-perpetuat- 
ing tradition,  or  a  genius  loci,  as  it  is  sometimes  called  ; 
which  haunts  the  home  where  it  has  been  born,  and 
which  imbues  and  forms,  more  or  less,  and  one  by  one, 
every  individual  who  is  successively  brought  under  its 
shadow.  Thus  it  is  that,  independent  of  direct  in- 


40    KNO  WLEDGE  IN  RELA  TION  TO  LEARNING. 

Struction  on  the  part  of  Superiors,  there  is  a  sort  of 
self-education  in  the  academic  institution's  of  Protestant . 
England ;  a  characteristic  tone  of  thought,  a  recog- 
nized standard  of  judgment  is  found  in  them,  which  as 
developed  in  the  individual  who  is  submitted  to  it,  be- 
comes a  twofold  source  of  strength  to  him,  both  from 
the  distinct  stamp  it  impresses  on  his  mind,  and  from 
the  bond  of  union  which  it  creates  between  him  and 
others, — effects  which  are  shared  by  the  authorities  of 
the  place,  for  they  themselves  have  been  educated  in 
it,  and  at  all  times  are  exposed  to  the  influence  of  its 
ethical  atmosphere.  Here  then  is  a  real  teaching, 
whatever  be  its  standards  and  principles,  tjpe  or  false  ; 
and  it  at  least  tends  towards  cultivation  of  the  intel- 
lect ;  it  at  least  recognizes  that  knowledge  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  sort  of  passive  reception  of  scraps 
and  details ;  it  is  a  something,  and  it  does  a  some- 
thing,  which  never  will  issue  from  the  most  strenuous 
efforts  of  a  set  of  teachers,  with  no  mutual  sympathies 
and  no  intercommunion,  of  a  set  of  examiners  with  no 
opinions  which  they  dare  profess,  and  with  no  com- 
mon principles,  who  are  teaching  or  questioning  a  set 
of  youths  who  do  not  know  them,  and  do  not  know 
each  other,  on  a  large  number  of  subjects,  different  in 
kind,  and  connected  by  no  wide  philosophy,  three 
times  a  week,  or  three  times  a  year,  or  once  in  three 
years,  in  chill  lecture-rooms  or  oh  a  pompous  anni- 
versary.— Idea  of  a  University,  ed.  1891,  pp.  124-148 


XorJ)  JBacon. 

BETTER,  far  better,  to  make  no  professions,  you  will 
say,  than  to  cheat  others  with  what  we  are  not,  and  to 
scandalize  them  with  what  we  are.  The  sensualist,  or 
the  man  of  the  world,  at  any  rate  is  not  the  victim  of 
fine  words,  but  pursues  a  reality  and  gains  it.  The 
Philosophy  of  Utility,  you  will  say,  Gentlemen,  has  at 
least  done  its  work  ;  and  I  grant  it, — it  aimed  low,  but 
it  has  fulfilled  its  aim.  If  that  man  of  great  intellect 
who  has  been  its  Prophet  in  the  conduct  of  life  played 
false  to  his  own  professions,  he  was  not  bound  by  his 
philosophy  to  be  true  to  his  friend  or  faithful  in  his 
trust.  Moral  virtue  was  not  the  line  in  which  he 
undertook  to  instruct  men  ;  and  though,  as  the  poet 
calls  him,  he  were  the  "  meanest  "  of  mankind,  he  was 
so  in  what  may  be  called  his  private  capacity  and 
without  any  prejudice  to  the  theory  of  induction.  He 
had  a  right  to  be  so,  if  he  chose,  for  any  thing  that  the 
Idols  of  the  den  or  the  theatre  had  to  say  to  the 
contrary.  His  mission  was  thie  increase  of  physical 
enjoyment  and  social  comfort ;  *  and  most  wonder- 
fully, most  awfully  has  he  fulfilled  his  conception  and 
his  design.*  Almost  day  by  day  have  we  fresh  and 

*  It  will  be  seen  that  on  the  whole  I  agree  with  Lord  Macaulay 
in  his  Essay  on  Bacon's  Philosophy.  I  do  not  know  whether  he 
would  agree  with  me. 

41 


42  LORD  BACON. 

fresh  shoots,  and  buds,  and  blossoms,  which  are  to 
ripen  into  fruit,  on  that  magical  tree  of  Knowledge 
which  he  planted,  and  to  which  none  of  us  perhaps, 
except  the  very  poor,  but  owes,  if  not  his  present  life, 
at  least  his  daily  food,  his  health,  and  general  well- 
being.  He  was  the  divinely  provided  minister  of  tem- 
poral benefits  to  all  of  us  so  great,  that,  whatever  I 
am  forced  to  think  of  him  as  a  man,  I  have  not  the 
heart,  from  mere  gratitude,  to  speak  of  him  severely. 
And,  in  spite  of  the  tendencies  of  his  philosophy, 
which  are,  as  we  see  at  this  day,  to  depreciate,  or  to 
trample  on  Theology,  he  has  himself,  in  his  writings, 
gone  out  of  his  way,  as  if  with  a  prophetic  misgiving 
of  those  tendencies,  to  insist  on  it  as  the  instrument  of 
that  beneficent  Father,*  who,  when  He  came  on  earth 
in  visible  form,  took  on  Him  first  and  most  prom- 
inently the  office  of  assuaging  the  bodily  wounds  of 
human  nature.  And  truly,  like  the  old  mediciner  in 
the  tale,  "  he  sat  diligently  at  his  work,  and  hummed, 
with  cheerful  countenance,  a  pious  song ;  "  and  then 
in  turn  "  went  out  singing  into  the  meadows  so  gaily, 
that  those  who  had  seen  him  from  afar  might  well 
have  thought  it  was  a  youth  gathering  flowers  for  his 

*  De  Augment,  iv.  2,  vid.  Macaulay's  Essay ;  vid.  also  "  In 
principle  operis,  ad  Deum  Patrem,  Deum  Verbum,  Deum  Spiri- 
tum,  preces  fundimus  humillimas  et  ardentissimas,  ut  human! 
generis  aerumnarum  memores  et  peregrinationis  istius  vitae  in 
qua  dies  paucos  et  malos  terimus,  novis  suis  eleemosynis,  per  matiais 
nostras,  familiam  humanam  dotare  dignentur.  Atque illud  insuper 
supplices  rogamus,  ne  humana  divinis  officiant,  neve  ex  resera- 
tioneviarum  sensfis  et  accensionemajoreluminisnaturalis  aliquid 
incredulitatis  et  noctis  animis  nostris  erga  divina  mysteria  obori- 
atur: "  etc.  Praf.  Instaur.  Magn. 


LORD  B 'A CON.  43 

beloved,  instead  of  an  old  physician  gathering  healing 
herbs  in  the  morning  dew."  * 

Alas,  that  men,  in  the  action  of  life  or  in  their  heart 
of  hearts,  are  not  what  they  seem  to  be  in  their 
moments  of  excitement,  or  in  their  trances  or  intoxica- 
tions of  genius, — so  good,  so  noble,  so  serene  !  Alas, 
that  Bacon  too  in  his  own  way  should  after  all  be  but 
the  fellow  of  those  heathen  philosophers  who  in  their 
disadvantages  had  some  excuse  for  their  inconsistency, 
and  who  surprise  us  rather  in  what  they  did  say  than 
in  what  they  did  not  do  !  Alas,  that  he  too,  like 
Socrates  or  Seneca,  must  be  stripped  of  his  holy-day 
coat,  which  looks  so  fair,  and  should  be  but  a  mockery 
amid  his  most  majestic  gravity  of  phrase  ;  and,  for  all 
his  vast  abilities,  should,  in  the  littleness  of  his  own 
moral  being,  but  typify  the  intellectual  narrowness  of 
his  school  !  However,  granting  all  this,  heroism  after 
all  was  not  his  philosophy : — I  cannot  deny  he  has 
abundantly  achieved  what  he  proposed.  His  is  simply 
a  Method  whereby  bodily  discomforts  and  temporal 
wants  are  to  be  most  effectually  removed  from  the 
greatest  number  ;  and  already,  before  it  has  shown  any 
signs  of  exhaustion,  the  gifts  of  nature,  in  their  most 
artificial  shapes  and  luxurious  profusion  and  diversity, 
from  all  quarters  of  the  earth,  are,  it  is  undeniable,  by 
its  means  brought  even  to  our  doors,  and  we  rejoice  in 
them. — Idea  of  a  University,  ed.  1891,  pp.  117-119 
(1852). 

*  Fouque's  Unknown  Patient. 


literature  an&  Xffc. 


HERE  then,  I  say,  you  are  involved  in  a  difficulty 
greater  than  that  which  besets  the  cultivation  of 
Science  ;  for,  if  Physical  Science  be  dangerous,  as  I 
have  said,  it  is  dangerous,  because  it  necessarily  ignores 
the  idea  of  moral  evil  ;  but  Literature  is  open  to  the 
more  grievous  imputation  of  recognizing  and  under- 
standing it  too  well.  Some  one  will  say  to  me  perhaps  : 
"  Our  youth  shall  not  be  corrupted.  We  will  dispense 
with  all  general  or  national  Literature  whatever,  if  it 
be  so  exceptionable  ;  we  will  have  a  Christian  Lit- 
erature of  our  own,  as  pure,  as  true,  as  the  Jewish." 
You  cannot  have  it  :  —  I  do  not  say  you  cannot  form  a 
select  literature  for  the  young,  nay,  even  for  the  middle 
or  lower  classes  ;  this  is  another  matter  altogether  :  I 
am  speaking  of  University  Education,  which  implies 
an  extended  range  of  reading,  which  has  to  deal  with 
standard  works  of  genius,  or  what  are  called  the 
classics  of  language  :  and  I  say,  from  the  nature  of  the 
case,  if  Literature  is  to  be  made  a  study  of  human 
nature,  you  cannot  have  a  Christian  Literature.  It  is 
a  contradiction  in  terms  to  attempt  a  sinless  Literature 
of  sinful  man.  You  may  gather  together  something 
very  great  and  high,  something  higher  than  any  Litera- 
ture ever  was  ;  and  when  you  have  done  so,  you  will 
find  that  it  is  not  Literature  at  all.  You  will  have 

44 


^  -  _ 

lr^  —  -,  LITER  A  TURE  AND  LIFE.  45 

$   C  ^    CV\^-*UA^.  _    rtv  fLf  j^?  __  '    1  ^ 

simply  left  the  delineation  of  man,  as  such,  and  have 
substituted  for  it,  as  far  as  you  have  had  anything  to 
substitute,  that  of  man,  as  he  is  or  might  be,  under 
certain  special  advantages.  Give  up  the  study  of  man, 
as  such,  if  so  it  must  be  ;  but  say  you  do  so.  Do  not  ^ 
say  you  are  studying  him,  his  history,  his  mind  and 
his  heart,  when  you  are  studying  something  else. 


Man  is  a  being  of  genius,  passion,  intellect,  conscience, 
power.      He   exercises  these  various  gifts  in  various 
ways,  in  great  deeds,  in  great  thoughts,  in  heroic  acts, 
in  hateful  crimes.     He  founds  states,  he  fights  battles, 
he  builds  cities,  he  ploughs  the  forest,  he   subdues  the  V 
elements,  he  rules  his  kind.     He  creates  vast   ideas,     njw 
and  influences  many  generations.     He    takes   a    thou- 
sand   shapes,    and    undergoes    a    thousand    fortunes. 
Literature  records  them  all  to  the  life. 

Quicquid  agunt  homines,  votum,  timor,  ira,  voluptas, 
Gaudia,  discursus. 

He  pours  out  his  fervid  soul  •  in  poetry  ;  he  sways  to 
and  fro,  he  soars,  he  dives,  in  his  restless  specula- 
tions ;  his  lips  drop  eloquence  ;  he  touches  the  canvas, 
and  it  glows  with  beauty  ;  he  sweeps  the  strings,  and 
they  thrill  with  an  ecstatic  meaning.  He  looks  back 
into  himself,  and  he  reads  his  own  thoughts,  and  notes 
them  down  ;  he  looks  out  into  the  universe,  and  tells 
over  and  celebrates  the  elements  and  principles  of 
which  it  is  the  product. 

Such  is  man  :  put  him  aside,  keep  him  before  you  ; 
but,  whatever  you  do,  do  not  take  him  for  what  he  is 
not,  for  something  more  divine  and  sacred,  for  man  re- 
generate. Nay,  beware  of  showing  God's  grace  and 


46  LITER  A  TURE  AND 

its  work  at  such  disadvantage  as  to  make  the  few  whom 
it  has  thoroughly  influenced  compete  in  intellect  with 
the  vast  multitude  who  either  have  it  not,  or  use  it  ill. 
The  elect  are  few  to  choose  out  of,  and  the  world  is 
inexhaustible.  From  the  first,  Jabel  and  Tubal  cain, 
Nimrod  "  the  stout  hunter,"  the  learning  of  the 
Pharaohs,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  East  country,  are  of 
the  world.  Every  now  and  then  they  are  rivalled  by  a 
Solomon  or  a  Beseleel,  but  the  habitat  of  natural  gifts 
is  the  natural  man.  The  Church  may  use  them,  she 
cannot  at  her  will  originate  them.  Not  till  the  whole 
human  race  is  made  new  will  its  literature  be  pure  and 
true.  Possible  of  course  it  is  in  idea,  for  nature, 
inspired  by  heavenly  grace,  to  exhibit  itself  on  a  large 
scale,  in  an  originality  of  thought  or  action,  even  far 
beyond  what  the  world's  literature  has  recorded  or 
exemplified  ;  but,  if  you  would  in  fact  have  a  literature 
of  saints,  first  of  all  have  a  nation  of  them. 

What  is  a  clearer  proof  of  the  truth  of  all  this  than 
the  structure  of  the  Inspired  Word  itself  ?  It  is  un- 
deniably not  the  reflection  or  picture  of  the  many, 
but  of*  the  few ;  it  is  no  picture  of  life,  but  an  antici- 
pation of  death  and  judgment.  Human  literature  is 
about  all  things,  grave  or  gay,  painful  or  pleasant; 
but  the  Inspired  Word  views  them  only  in  one  aspect, 
and  as  they  tend  to  one  scope.  It  gives  us  little  in- 
sight into  the  fertile  developments  of  mind  ;  it  has  no 
terms  in  its  vocabulary  to  express  with  exactness  the 
intellect  and  its  separate  faculties  ;  it  knows  nothing 
of  genius,  fancy,  wit,  invention,  presence  of  mind, 
resource.  It  does  not  discourse  of  empire,  commerce, 
enterprise,  learning,  philosophy,  or  the  fine  arts. 


LITER  A  TURE  AND  LIFE.  47 

Slightly  too  does  it  touch  on  the  more  simple  and  in- 
nocent courses  of  nature  and  their  reward.  Little 
does  it  say*  of  those  temporal  blessings  which  rest 
upon  our  worldly  occupations,  and  make  them 
easy ;  of  the  blessings  which  we  derive  from  the 
sunshine  day  and  the  serene  night,  from  the  suc- 
cession of  the  seasons,  and  the  produce  of  the 
earth.  Little  about  our  recreations  and  our  daily 
domestic  comforts ;  little  about  the  ordinary  occa- 
sions of  festivity  and  mirth,  which  sweeten  human 
life ;  and  nothing  at  all  about  various  pursuits  or 
amusements,  which  it  would  be  going  too  much  into 
detail  to  mention.  We  read  indeed  of  the  feast  when 
Isaac  was  weaned,  and  of  Jacob's  courtship,  and  of 
the  religious  merry-makings  of  holy  Job ;  but  excep- 
tions, such  as  these,  do  but  remind  us  what  might  be 
in  Scripture,  and  is  not.  If  then  by  Literature  is 
meant  the  manifestation  of  human  nature  in  human 
language,  you  will  seek  for  it  in  vain  except  in  the 
world.  Put  up  with  it,  as  it  is,  or  do  not  pretend  to 
cultivate  it ;  take  things  as  they  are,  not  as  you  could 
wish  them. 

Nay,  I  am  obliged  to  go  further  still ;  even  if  we 
could,  still  we  should  be  shrinking  from  our  plain 
duty,  Gentlemen,  did  we  leave  out  Literature  from  Ed- 
ucation. For  why  do  we  educate,  except  to  prepare 
for  the  world  ?  Why  do  we  cultivate  the  intellect  of 
the  many  beyond  the  first  elements  of  knowledge, 
except  for  this  world  ?  Will  it  be  much  matter  in  the 

*Vide  the  Author's  Parochial  Sermons,  vol.  i.  25. 
^J 


48  LITER  A  TURE  AND  LIFE. 

world  to  come  whether  our  bodily  health  or  whether 
our  intellectual  strength  was  more  or  less,  except  of 
course  as  this  world  is  in  all  its  circumstances  a  trial  for 
the  next  ?  If  then  a  University  is  a  direct  preparation 
for  this  world,  let  it  be  what  it  professes.  It  is  not  a 
Convent,  it  is  not  a  Seminary  ;  it  is  a  place  to  fit  men 
of  the  world  for  the  world.  We  cannot  possibly  keep 
them  from  plunging  into  the  world,  with  all  its  ways 
and  principles  and  maxims,  when  their  time  comes  ; 
but  we  can  prepare  them  against  what  is  inevitable ; 
and  it  is  not  the  way  to  learn  to  swim  in  troubled 
waters,  never  to  have  gone  into  them.  Proscribe  (I 
do  not  merely  say  particular  authors,  particular  works, 
particular  passages)  but  Secular  Literature  as  such  ; 
cut  out  from  your  class  books  all  broad  manifestations 
of  the  natural  man ;  and  those  manifestations  are 
waiting  for  your  pupil's  benefit  at  the  very  doors  of 
your  lecture  room  in  living  and  breathing  substance. 
They  will  meet  him  there  in  all  the  charm  of  nov- 
elty, and  all  the  fascination  of  genius  or  of  amiable- 
ness.  To-day  a  pupil,  to-morrow  a  member  of  the 
great  world :  to-day  confined  to  the  Lives  of  the 
Saints,  to-morrow  thrown  upon  Babel ; — thrown  on 
Babel,  without  the  honest  indulgence  of  wit  and  hu- 
mour and  imagination  having  ever  been  permitted  to 
him,  without  any  fastidiousness  of  taste  wrought  into 
him,  without  any  rule  given  him  for  discriminating 
"  the  precious  from  the  vile,"  beauty  from  sin,  the 
truth  from  the  sophistry  of  nature,  what  is  innocent 
from  what  is  poison.  You  have  refused  him  the 
masters  of  human  thought,  who  wou-ld  in  some  sense 
have  educated  him,  because  of  their  incidental  cor- 


LITERATURE  AND  LIFE.  49 

ruption  :  you  have  shut  up  from  him  those  whose 
thoughts  strike  home  to  our  hearts,  whose  words  are 
proverbs,  whose  names  are  indigenous  to  all  the  world, 
who  are  the  standard  of  their  mother  tongue,  and  the 
pride  and  boast  of  their  countrymen,  Homer,  Ariosto, 
Cervantes,  Shakespeare,  because  the  old  Adam  smelt 
rank  in  them  ;  and  for  what  have  you  reserved  him  ? 
You  have  given  him  "  a  liberty  unto  "  the  multitudinous 
blasphemy  of  his  day ;  you  have  made  him  free  of  its 
newspapers,  its  reviews,  its  magazines,  its  novels,  its 
controversial  pamphlets,  of  its  Parliamentary  debates, 
its  law  proceedings,  its  platform  speeches,  its  songs, 
its  drama,  its  theatre,  of  its  enveloping,  stifling  atmos- 
phere of  death.  You  have  succeeded  but  in  this, — 
in  making  the  world  his  University. 

Difficult  then  as  the  question  may  be,  and  much  as 
it  may  try  the  judgments  and  even  divide  the  opinions 
of  zealous  and  religious  Catholics,  I  cannot  feel  any 
doubt  myself,  Gentlemen,  that  the  Church's  true  pot- 
icy  is  not  to  aim  at  the  exclusion  of  Literature  from 
Secular  Schools,  but  at  her  own  admission  into  them. 
Let  her  do  for  Literature  in  one  way  what  she  does  for 
Science  in  another ;  each  has  its  imperfection,  and  she 
has  her  remedy  for  each.  She  fears  no  knowledge,  but 
she  purifies  all ;  she  represses  no  element  of  our 
nature,  but  cultivates  the  whole.  Science  is  grave, 
methodical,  logical ;  with  Science  then  she  argues,  and 
opposes  reason  to  reason.  Literature  does  not  argue, 
but  declaims  and  insinuates  ;  it  is  multiform  and  ver- 
satile :  it  persuades  instead  of  convincing,  it  seduces,  it 
carries  captive  ;  it  appeals  to  the  sense  of  honour,  or  to 
the  imagination,  or  to  the  stimulus  of  curiosity;  it 
4 


50  LITERATURE  AND  LIFE. 

makes  its  way  by  means  of  gaiety,  satire,  romance,  the 
beautiful,  the  pleasurable.  Is  it  wonderful  that  with 
an  agent  like  this  the  Church  should  claim  to  deal 
with  a  vigour  corresponding  to  its  restlessness,  to  inter- 
fere in  its  proceedings  with  a  higher  hand,  and  to 
wield  an  authority  in  the  choice  of  its  studies  and  of 
its  books  which  would  be  tyrannical,  if  reason  and 
fact  were  the  only  instruments  of  its  conclusions  ? 
But  anyhow,  her  principle  is  one  and  the  same 
throughout ;  not  to  prohibit  truth  of  any  kind,  but  to 
see  that  no  doctrines  pass  under  the  name  of  Truth 
but  those  which  claim  it  rightfully. — Idea  of  a  Univer- 
sity, ed.  1891,  pp.  229-234  (1852). 


~+*J 


St.  pbflfp  IRerf. 

SUCH  at  least  is  the  lesson  which  I  am  taught  by  all 
the  thought  which  I  have  been  able  to  bestow  upon 
the  subject ;  such  is  the  lesson  which  I  have  gained 
from  the  history  of  my  own  special  Father  and  Patron, 
St.  Philip  Neri.  He  lived  in  an  age  as  traitorous  to 
the  interests  of  Catholicism  as  any  that  preceded  it, 
or  can  follow  it.  He  lived  at  a  time  when  pride 
mounted  high,  and  the  senses  held  rule  ;  a  time  when 
kings  and  nobles  never  had  more  of  state  and  homage, 
and  never  less  of  personal  responsibility  and  peril ; 
when  mediaeval  winter  was  receding,  and  the  summer 
sun  of  civilization  was  bringing  into  leaf  and  flower  a 
thousand  forms  of  luxurious  enjoyment ;  when  a  new 
world  of  thought  and  beauty  had  opened  upon  the 
human  mind,  in  the  discovery  of  the  treasures  of 
classic  literature  and  art.  He  saw  the  great  and  the 
gifted,  dazzled  by  the  Enchantress,  and  drinking  in 
the  magic  of  her  song ;  he  saw  the  high  and  the  wise, 
the  student  and  the  artist,  painting,  and  poetry,  and 
sculpture,  and  music,  and  architecture,  drawn  within 
her  range,  and  circling  round  the  abyss :  he  saw 
heathen  forms  mounting  thence,  and  forming  in  the 
thick  air : — all  this  he  saw,  and  he  perceived  that  the 
mischief  was  to  be  met,  not  with  argument,  not  with 
science,  not  with  protests  and  warnings,  not  by  the 
recluse  or  the  preacher,  but  by  means  of  the  great 

51 


52  ST.  PHILIP  NERL 

counter  fascination  of  purity  and  truth.  He  was  raised 
up  to  do  a  work  almost  peculiar  in  the  Church, — not 
to  be  a  Jerome  Savonarola,  though  Philip  had  a  true 
devotion  towards  him  and  a  tender  memory  of  his 
Florentine  house ;  not  to  be  a  St.  Charles,  though  in 
his  beaming'  countenance  Philip  had  recognized  the 
aureole  of  a  saint ;  not  to  be  a  St.  Ignatius,  wrestling 
with  the  foe,  though  Philip  was  termed  the  Society's 
bell  of  call,  so  many  subjects  did  he  send  to  it ;  not  to 
be  a  St.  Francis  Xavier,  though  Philip  had  longed  to 
shed  his  blood  for  Christ  in  India  with  him  ;  not  to  be 
a  St.  Caietan,  or  hunter  of  souls,  for  Philip  preferred, 
as  he  expressed  it,  tranquilly  to  cast  in  his  net  to  gain 
them  ;  he  preferred  to  yield  to  the  stream,  and  direct 
the  current,  which  he  could  not  stop,  of  science,  litera- 
ture, art,  and  fashion,  and  to  sweeten  and  to  sanctify 
what  God  had  made  very  good  and  man  had  spoilt. 

And  so  he  contemplated  as  the  idea  of  his  mission, 
not  the  propagation  of  the  faith,  nor  the  exposition  of 
doctrine,  nor  the  catechetical  schools;  whatever  was 
exact  and  systematic  pleased  him  not ;  he  put  from 
him  monastic  rule  and  authoritative  speech,  as  David 
refused  the  armour  of  his  king.  No  ;  he  would  be  but 
an  ordinary  individual  priest  as  others :  and  his 
weapons  should  be  but  unaffected  humility  and  un- 
pretending love.  All  He  did  was  to  be  done  by  the 
light,  and  fervour,  and  convincing  eloquence  of  his 
personal  character  and  his  easy  conversation.  He 
came  to  the  Eternal  City  and  he  sat  himself  down 
there,  and  his  home  and  his  family  gradually  grew  up 
around  him,  by  the  spontaneous  accession  of  materials 
from  without.  He  did  not  so  much  seek  his  own  as 


ST.  PHILIP  NERI. 


S3 


draw  them  to  him.  He  sat  in  his  small  room,  and 
they  in  their  gay  worldly  dresses,  the  rich  and  the 
wellborn,  as  well  as  the  simple  and  the  illiterate, 
crowded  into  it.  In  the  mid-heats  of  summer,  in  the 
frosts  of  winter,  still  was  he  in  that  low  and  narrow 
cell  at  San  Girolamo,  reading  the  hearts  of  those  who 
came  to  him,  and  curing  their  souls'  maladies  by  the 
very  touch  of  his  hand.  It  was  a  vision  of  the  Magi 
worshipping  the  infant  Saviour,  so  pure  and  innocent, 
so  sweet  and  beautiful  was  he  ;  and  so  loyal  and  so  dear 
to  the  gracious  Virgin  Mother.  And  they  who  came 
remained  gazing  and  listening,  till  at  length,  first  one 
and  then  another  threw  off  their  bravery,  and  took 
his  poor  cassock  and  girdle  instead  :  or,  if  they  kept 
it,  it  was  to  put  haircloth  under  it,  or  to  take  on  them 
a  rule  of  life,  while  to  the  world  they  looked  as  before. 
In  the  words  of  his  biographer,  "  he  was  all  things 
to  all  men.  He  suited  himself  to  noble  and  ignoble, 
young  and  old,  subjects  and  prelates,  learned  and 
ignorant;  and  received  those  who  were  strangers  to 
him  with  singular  benignity,  and  embraced  them  with 
as  much  love  and  charity  as  if  he  had  been  a  long 
while  expecting  them.  When  he  was  called  upon  to 
be  merry  he  was  so  ;  if  there  was  a  demand  upon  his 
sympathy  he  was  equally  ready.  He  gave  the  same 
welcome  to  all :  caressing  the  poor  equally  with  the 
rich,  and  wearying  himself  to  assist  all  to  the  utmost 
limits  of  his  power.  In  consequence  of  his  being  so 
accessible  and  willing  to  receive  all  comers,  many 
went  to  him  every  day,  and  some  continued  for  the 
space  of  thirty,  nay  forty  years,  to  visit  him  very  often 
both  morning  and  evening,  so  that  his  room ..  went  by 


54  '    ST.  PHILIP  NERI. 

the  agreeable  nickname  of  the  Home  of  Christian 
mirth.  Nay,  people  came  to  him,  not  only  from  all 
parts  of  Italy,  but  from  France,  Spain,  Germany,  and 
all  Christendom  ;  and  even  the  infidels  and  Jews,  who 
had  ever  any  communication  with  him,  revered  him  as  a 
holy  man."*  The  first  families  of  Rome,  the  Massimi, 
the  Aldobrandini,  the  Colonnas,  the  Altieri,  the  Vitel- 
leschi,  were  his  friends  and  his  penitents.  Nobles  of 
Poland,  Grandees  of  Spain,  Knights  of  Malta,  could 
not  leave  Rome  without  coming  to  him.  Cardinals, 
Archbishops,  and  Bishops  were  his  intimates  ;  Fede- 
rigo  Borromeo  haunted  his  room  and  got  the  name  of 
"  Father  Philip's  soul."  The  Cardinal-Archbishops 
of  Verona  and  Bologna  wrote  books  in  his  honour. 
Pope  Pius  the  Fourth  died  in  his  arms.  Lawyers, 
painters,  musicians,  physicians,  it  was  the  same  too 
with  them.  Baronius,  Zazzara,  and  Ricci,  left  the  law 
at  his  bidding,  and  joined  his  congregation,  to  do  its 
work,  to  write  the  annals  of  the  Church,  and  to  die  in 
the  odour  of  sanctity.  Palestrina  had  Father  Philip's 
ministrations  in  his  last  moments.  Animuccia  hung 
about  him  during  life,  sent  him  a  message  after  death, 
and  was  conducted  by  him  through  Purgatory  to 
Heaven.  And  who  was  he,  I  say,  all  the  while,  but  an 
humble  priest,  a  stranger  in  Rome,  with  no  distinction 
of  family  or  letters,  no  claim  of  station  or  of  office, 
great  simply  in  the  attraction  with  which  a  Divine 
Power  had  gifted  him  ?  and  yet  thus  humble,  thus  un- 
ennobled,  thus  empty-handed,  he  has  achieved  the 
glorious  title  of  Apostle  of  Rome. — Idea  of  a  Univer- 
sity, ed.  1891,  pp.  234-238  (1852). 

*  Jiacci,  vol.  i.,  p.  192,  ii.,  p.  98. 


$obn  feeble. 

SUCH  was  the  gift  of  the  author  of  the  Christian 
Year,  and  he  used  it  in  attaching  the  minds  of  the  ris- 
ing generation  to  the  Church  of  his  predecessors,  Ken 
and  Herbert.  He  did  that  for  the  Church  of  England 
which  none  but  a  poet  could  do  :  he  made  it  poetical. 
It  is  sometimes  asked  whether  poets  are  not  more 
commonly  found  external  to  the  Church  than  among 
her  children ;  and  it  would  not  surprise  us  to  find  the 
question  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Poetry  is  the 
refuge  of  those  who  have  not  the  Catholic  Church  to 
flee  to  and  repose  upon,  for  the  Church  herself  is  the 
most  sacred  and  august  of  poets.  Poetry,  as  Mr. 
Keble  lays  it  down  in  his  University  Lectures  on  the 
subject,  is  a  method  of  relieving  the  over-burdened 
mind  ;  it  is  a  channel  through  which  emotion  finds  ex- 
pression, and  that  a  safe,  regulated  expression.  Now 
what  is  the  Catholic  Church,  viewed  in  her  human  as- 
pect, but  a  discipline  of  the  affections  and  passions  ? 
What  are  her  ordinances  and  practices  but  the  regu- 
lated expression  of  keen,  or  deep,  or  turbid  feeling, 
and  thus  a  "  cleansing,"  as  Aristotle  would  word  it,  of 
the  sick  soul  ?  She  is  the  poet  of  her  children  ;  full  of 
music  to  soothe  the  sad  and  control  the  wayward, — 
wonderful  in  story  for  the  imagination  of  the  romantic ; 
rich  in  symbol  and  imagery,  so  that  gentle  and  delicate 

55 


56  JOHN  KEBLE. 

feelings,  which  will  not  bear  words,  may  in  silence  in 
timate   their   presence  or  commune  with  themselves. 
Her  very  being  is  poetry ;  every  psalm,  every  petition, 
every  collect,  every  versicle,  the  cross,  the  mitre,  the 
thurible,  is  a  fulfilment  of  some  dream  of  childhood  or 
aspiration  of  youth.     Such  poets  as  are  born  under  her 
shadow,  she  takes  into  her  service ;  she  sets  them  to 
write  hymns,  or  to  compose  chants,   or  to  embellish 
shrines,  or  to  determine  ceremonies,  or  to  marshal  pro- 
cessions ;  nay,  she  can  even  make  schoolmen  of  them, 
as  she  made  St.  Thomas,  till  logic  becomes  poetical. 
Now  the  author  of  the  Christian  Year  found  the  An- 
glican system  all  but  destitute  of  this  divine  element, 
which    is   an    essential   property   of   Catholicism  ; — a 
ritual  dashed  upon  the  ground,  trodden  on,  and  broken 
piece-meal ; — prayers,    clipped,  pieced,    torn,    shuffled 
about  at  pleasure,  until   the   meaning  of  the  composi- 
tion perished,  and  offices  which  had  been  poetry  were 
no  longer  even  good  prose  ; — antiphones,  hymns,  ben- 
edictions, invocations,  shovelled  away  ; — Scripture  les- 
sons turned  into  chapters  ; — heaviness,  feebleness,  un- 
wieldiness,  where  the  Catholic  rites  had  had  the  light- 
ness and  airiness  of  a  spirit ; — vestments  chucked  off, 
lights  quenched,  jewels  stolen,  the  pomp  and  circum- 
stances of  worship    annihilated ;    a   dreariness    which 
could  be  felt,  and  which  seemed  the  token  of  an  incip- 
ient Socinianism,  forcing  itself  upon  the  eye,  the  ear, 
the  nostrils  of  the  worshipper;  a  smell  of  dust  and 
damp,  not  of  incense  ;  a  sound  of  ministers  preaching 
Catholic  prayefs,  and  parish  clerks  droning  out  Catho- 
lic canticles  ;  the  royal  arms  for  the  crucifix;  huge  ugly 
boxes  of  wood,  sacred  to  preachers,  frowning  on  the 


JOHN  KEBLE.  57 

congregation  in  the  place  of  the  mysterious  altar ;  and 
long  cathedral  aisles  unused,  railed  off,  like  the  tombs 
(as  they  were,)  of  what  had  been  and  was  not ;  and  for 
orthodoxy,  a  frigid,  unelastic,  inconsistent,  dull,  help- 
less dogmatic,  which  could  give  no  just  account  of 
itself,  yet  was  intolerant  of  all  teaching  which  con- 
tained a  doctrine  more  or  a  doctrine  less,  and  resented 
every  attempt  to  give  it  a  meaning, — such  was  the 
religion  of  which  this  gifted  author  was, — not  the  judge 
and  denouncer  (a  deep  spirit  of  reverence  hindered 
it,) — but  the  renovator,  as  far  as  it  has  been  reno- 
vated. Clear  as  was  his  perception  of  the  degeneracy 
of  his  times,  he  attributed  nothing  of  it  to  his  Church, 
over  which  he  threw  the  poetry  of  his  own  mind  and 
the  memory  of  better  days. 

His  happy  magic  made  the  Anglican  Church  seem 
what  Catholicism  was  and  is.  The  established  system 
found  to  its  surprise  that  it  had  been  all  its  life  talking 
not  prose,  but  poetry. 

"  Miraturque  novas  frondes  et  non  sua  poma." 

Beneficed  clergymen  used  to  go  to  rest  as  usual  on 
Christmas  Eve,  and  leave  to  ringers,  or  sometimes  to 
carollers,  the  observance  which  was  paid,  not  without 
creature  comforts,  to  the  sacred  night ;  but  now  they 
suddenly  found  themselves,  to  their  great  surprise,  to 
be  "  wakeful  shepherds  ;  "  and  "  still  as  the  day  came 
round,"  "  in  music  and  in  light,"  the  new-born  Saviour 
"  dawned  upon  their  prayer."  Anglican  bishops  had 
not  only  lost  the  habit  of  blessing,  but  had  sometimes 
been  startled  and  vexed  when  asked  to  do  so  ;  but  now 
they  were  told  of  their  "  gracious  arm  stretched  out  to 


58  JOHN  KEBLE. 

bless  ; "  moreover,  what  they  had  never  dreamed  when 
they  were  gazetted  or  did  homage,  they  were  taught 
that  each  of  them  was  "  an  Apostle  true,  a  crowned 
and  robed  seer."  The  parish  church  had  been  shut 
up,  except  for  vestry  meetings  and  occasional  services, 
all  days  of  the  year  but  Sundays,  and  one  or  two  other 
sacred  days ;  but  church-goers  were  now  assured  that 
"Martyrs  and  Saints"  "dawned  on  their  way,"  that 
the  absolution  in  the  Common  Prayer  Book  was  "  the 
Golden  Key  each  morn  and  eve  ;  "  and  informed,  more- 
over, at  a  time  too  when  the  Real  Presence  was  all  but 
utterly  forgotten  or  denied,  of  "  the  dear  feast  of  Jesus 
dying,  upon  that  altar  ever  lying,  while  Angels  pros- 
trate fall."  They  learned,  besides,  that  what  their 
pastors  had  spoken  of,  and  churchwardens  had  used 
at  vestry  meetings,  as  a  mere  table,  was  "  the  dread 
altar  ;  "  and  that  "  holy  lamps  were  blazing ;  "  "  per- 
fumed embers  quivering  bright,"  with  "  stoled  priests 
ministering  at  them,"  while  the  "  floor  was  by  knees  of 
sinners  worn." 

Such  doctrine  coming  from  one  who  had  such  claims 
on  his  readers  from  the  weight  of  his  name,  the  depth 
of  his  devotional  and  ethical  tone,'  and  the  special  gift 
of  consolation,  of  which  his  poems  themselves  were 
the  evidence,  wrought  a  great  work  on  the  Establish- 
ment. The  Catholic  Church  speaks  for  itself,  the  An- 
glican needs  external  assistance  ;  his  poems  became  a 
sort  of  comment  upon  its  formularies  and  ordinances, 
and  almost  elevated  them  into  the  dignity  of  a  religi- 
ous system.  It  kindled  hearts  towards  his  Church  ;  it 
gave  a  something  for  the  gentle  and  forlorn  to  cling 
to  ;  and  it  raised  up  advocates  for  it  among  those,  who 


JOHKT  KEBLE.  59 

otherwise,  if  God  and  their  good  Angel  had  suffered 
it,  might  have  wandered  away  into  some  sort  of  phi- 
losophy, and  acknowledged  no  Church  at  all.  Such 
was  the  influence  of  his  Christian  Year;  and  doubt- 
less his  friends  hail  his  Lyra  Innocentium,  as  being 
likely  to  do  a  similar  work  in  a  more  critical  time. 
And  it  is  to  be  expected  that  for  a  while  something  of 
a  similar  effect  may  follow  its  publication.  That  so 
revered,  so  loved  a  name  as  the  author's,  a  name 
known  by  Oxford  men  for  thirty  years  and  more, — that 
one  who  has  been  "  a  hermit  spirit  "  unlike  the  world 
all  his  days,  who  even  in  his  youth  caused  the  eyes  of 
younger  men  to  turn  keenly  towards  him,  if  he  was 
pointed  out  to  them  in  public  schools  or  college 
garden,  who  by  the  mere  first  touch  of  his  hand  has 
made  them  feel  pierced  through,  so  that  they  could 
have  sunk  into  the  earth  for  shame,  and  who,  when  re- 
moved from  his  loved  University,  was  still  an  unseen 
silent  influence  moving  hearts  at  his  will,— that  a 
"  whisper  "  from  such  a  man,  "  with  no  faint  and  erring 
voice,"  will  for  the  time  retain  certain  persons  in  the 
English  Church,  who  otherwise,  to  say  the  least,  would 
have  contemplated  a  return  to  that  true  Mother  whose 
baptism  they  bear,  the  one  sole  Ark  of  salvation,  of 
this  we  make  no  question  at  all.  But  there  is  another 
point,  of  which  we  entertain  just  as  little  doubt,  or 
rather  are  a  great  deal  more  confident, — that  as  far  as 
the  Volume  has  influence,  that  influence  will,  on  the 
long  run,  tell  in  favor  of  the  Catholic  Church  ;  and 
will  do  what  the  author  does  not,  nay,  from  his  posi- 
tion, alas !  cannot,  may  not  contemplate, — will  in 
God's  good  time  bring  in  a  blessed  harvest  into  the 


60  JOHN  KEBLE. 

granaries  of  Christ.  And  being  sure  of  this,  much  as 
the  immediate  effects  of  its  publication  may  pain  the 
hearts  of  those  who  are  sighing  and  praying  for  the 
souls  of  others,  we  can  bear  to  wait,  we  can  afford  to 
be  patient,  and  awfully  to  watch  the  slow  march  of  the 
divine  providences  towards  this  poor  country. — Essays 
Critical  and  Historical,  ed.  1885,  Vol.  ii.,  pp.  442-446 
(1846). 


Keble  was  young  in  years,  when  he  became  a  Uni- 
versity celebrity,  and  younger  in  mind.  He  had  the 
purity  and  simplicity  of  a  child.  He  had  few  sym- 
pathies with  the  intellectual  party,  who  sincerely 
welcomed  him  as  a  brilliant  specimen  of  young  Oxford. 
He  instinctively  shut  up  before  literary  display,  and 
pomp  and  donnishness  of  manner,  faults  which  always 
will  beset  academical  notabilities.  He  'did  not  respond 
to  their  advances.  His  collision  with  them  (if  it  may 
be  so  called)  was  thus  described  by  Hurrell  Froude  in 
his  own  way.  "  Poor  Keble  !  "  he  used  gravely  to  say, 
"  he  was  asked  to  join  the  aristocracy  of  talent,  but  he 
soon  found  his  level.  "  He  went  into  the  country,  but 
his  instance  serves  to  prove  that  men  need  not,  in  the 
event,  lose  that  influence  which  is  rightly  theirs,  be- 
cause they  happen  to  be  thwarted  in  the  use  of  the 
channels  natural  and  proper  to  its  exercise.  He  did 
not  lose  his  place  in  the  minds  of  men  because  he  was 
out  of  their  sight. 

Keble  was  a  man  who  guided  himself  and  formed 
his  judgments,  not  by  processes  of  reason,  by  inquiry 
or  by  argument,  but,  to  use  the  word  in  a  broad  sense, 


JOHNKEBLE.  61 

by  authority.  Conscience  is  an  authority;  the  Bible 
is  an  authority ;  such  is  the  Church ;  such  is  An- 
tiquity ;  such  are  the  words  of  the  wise ;  such  are 
hereditary  lessons  ;  such  are  ethical  truths  ;  such  are 
historical  memories,  such  are  legal  saws  and  state 
maxims ;  such  are  proverbs ;  such  are  sentiments, 
presages,  and  prepossessions.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if 
he  ever  felt  happier,  when  he  could  speak  or  act  under 
some  such  primary  or  external  sanction  ;  and  could 
use  argument  mainly  as  a  means  of  recommending  or 
explaining  what  had  claims  on  his  reception  prior  to 
proof.  He  even  felt  a  tenderness,  I  think,  in  spite  of 
Bacon,  for  the  Idols  of  the  Tribe  and  the  Den,  of  the 
Market  and  the  Theatre.  What  he  hated  instinctively 
was  heresy,  insubordination,  resistance  to  things  es- 
tablished, claims  of  independence,  disloyalty,  innova- 
tion, a  critical,  censorious  spirit.  And  such  was  the 
main  principle  of 'the  school  which  in  the  course  of 
years  was  formed  around  him  ;  nor  is  it  easy  to  set 
limits  to  its  influence  in  its  day  ;  for  multitudes  of  men, 
who  did'  not  profess  its  teaching,  or  accept  its  pe- 
culiar doctrines,  were  willing  nevertheless,  or  found  it 
to  their  purpose,  to  act  in  company  with  it. 

Indeed  for  a  time  it  was  practically  the  champion 
and  advocate  of  the  political  doctrines  of  the  great 
clerical  interest  through  the  country,  who  found  in  Mr. 
Keble  and  his  friends  an  intellectual,  as  well  as  moral 
support  to  their  cause,  which  they  looked  for  in  vain 
elsewhere.  His  weak  point*  in  their  eyes,  was  his 
consistency ;  for  he  carried  his  love  of  authority 
and  old  times  so  far",  as  to  be  more-  than  gentle  to^ 
wards  the  Catholic  Religion,  with  which  the  Toryism 


6  2  JOHN  KEBLE. 

of  Oxford  and  of  the  Church  of  England  had  no 
sympathy.  Accordingly,  if  my  memory  be  correct,  he 
never  could  get  himself  to  throw  his  heart  into  the 
opposition  made  to  Catholic  Emancipation,  strongly 
as  he  revolted  from  the  politics  and  the  instruments  by 
means  of  which  that  Emancipation  was  won.  1  fancy 
he  would  have  had  no  difficulty  in  accepting  Dr.  John- 
son's saying  about  "  the  first  Whig ; ''  and  it  grieved 
and  offended  him  that  the  "  Via  prima  salutis  "  should 
be  opened  to  the  Catholic  body  from  the  Whig  quarter. 
In  spite  of  his  reverence  for  the  Old  Religion,  I  con- 
ceive that  on  the  whole  he  would  rather  have  kept  its 
professors  beyond  the  pale  of  the  Constitution  with 
the  Tories,  than  admit  them  on  the  principles  of  the 
Whigs.  Moreover,  if  the  Revolution  of  1688  was  too 
lax  in  principle  for  him  and  his  friends,  much  less,  as 
is  very  plain,  could  they  endure  to  subscribe  to  the 
revolutionary  doctrines  of  1776  and  1789,  which  they 
felt  to  be  absolutely  and  entirely  out  of  keeping  with 
theological  truth. — Apologia,  ed.  1890,  pp.  289-291 
(1864). 


EVERY  year  brings  changes  and  reforms.  We  do 
not  know  what  is  the  state  of  Oxley  Church  now ;  it 
may  haye  rood-loft,  piscina,  sedilia,  all  new ;  or  it  may 
be  reformed  backwards,  the  seats  on  principle  turning 
from  the  Communion-table,  and  the  pulpit  planted  in 
the  middle  of  the  aisle  ;  but  at  the  time  when  these 
two  young  men  walked  through  the  churchyard,  there 
was  nothing  very  good  or  very  bad  to  attract  them 
within  the  building ;  and  they  were  passing  on,  when 
they  observed,  coming  out  of  the  church,  what  Shef- 
field called  an  elderly  don,  a  fellow  of  a  college  whom 
Charles  knew.  He  was  a  man  of  family,  and  had 
some  little  property  of  his  own,  had  been  a  contempo- 
rary of  his  father's  at  the  University,  and  had  from 
time  to  time  been  a  guest  at  the  parsonage.  Charles 
had,  in  consequence,  known  him  from  a  boy ;  and  now, 
since  he  came  into  residence,  he  had,  as  was  natural, 
received  many  small  attentions  from  him.  Once, 
when  he  was  late  for  his  own  hall,  he  had  given  him 
his  dinner  in  his  rooms  ;  he  had  taken  him  out  on  a 
fishing  expedition  towards  Faringdon  ;  and  had  prom- 
ised him  some  tickets  for  some  ladies,  lionesses  of 
his,  who  were  coming  up  to  the  Commemoration.  He 
was  a  shrewd,  easy-tempered,  free-spoken  man,  of 
small  desires  and  no  ambition  ^  of  no  very  keen  sensi- 

63 


64  OXFORD  FASHIONS. 

bilities  or  romantic  delicacies,  and  very  little  religious 
pretension  ;  that  is,  though  unexceptionable  in  his  de- 
portment, he  hated  the  show  of  religion,  and  was  im- 
patient with  those  who  affected  it.  He  had  known 
the  University  for  thirty  years,  and  formed  a  right 
estimate  of  most  things  in  it.  He  had  come  out  to 
Oxley  to  take  a  funeral  for  a  friend,  and  was  now  return- 
ing home.  He  hallooed  to  Charles,  who,  though  feeling 
at  first  awkward  on  finding  himself  with  two  such  dif- 
ferent friends  and  in  two  such  different  relations,  was, 
after  a  time,  partially  restored  to  himself  by  the  uncon- 
cern of  Mr.  Malcolm ;  and  the  three  walked  home 
together.  Yet,  even  to  the  last,  he  did  not  quite  know 
how  and  where  to  walk,  and  how  to  carry  himself ; 
particularly  when  they  got  near  Oxford,  and  he  fell  in 
with  various  parties  who  greeted  him  in  passing. 

Charles,  by  way  of  remark,  said  they  had  been  look- 
ing in  at  a  pretty  little  chapel  on  the  common,  which 
was  now  in  the  course  of  repair.  Mr.  Malcolm  laughed. 
"So,  Charles,"  he  said,  "you're  bit  with  the  new 
fashion." 

Charles  coloured,  and  asked,  "  What  fashion  ?  " 
adding,  that  a  friend,  by  accident,  had  taken  them  in. 

"  You  ask  what  fashion,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm  ;  "  why, 
the  newest,  latest  fashion.  This  is  a  place  of  fashions  ; 
there  have  been  many  fashions  in  my  time.  The 
greater  part  of  the  residents,  that  is,  the  boys,  change 
once  in  three  years  ;  the  fellows  and  tutors,  perhaps, 
in  half  a  dozen  ;  and  every  generation  has  its  own 
fashion.  There  is  no  principle  of  stability  in  Oxford, 
except  the  Heads,  and  they  are  always  the  same  and 
always  will  be  the  same  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 


OXFORD  FASHIONS.  65 

What  is  in  now,"  he  asked,  "  among  you  youngsters — 
drinking  or  cigars  ?  " 

Charles  laughed  modestly,  and  said  he  hoped  drink- 
ing had  gone  out  everywhere. 

"  Worse  things  may  come  in,"  said  Mr.  Malcolm  ; 
"  but  there  are  fashions  everywhere.  There  once  was 
a  spouting  club,  perhaps  it  is  in  favor  still ;  before  it 
was  the  music-room.  Once  geology  was  all  the  rage  ; 
now  it  is  theology  ;  soon  it  will  be  architecture,  or  me- 
diaeval antiquities,  or  editions  and  codices.  Each  wears 
out  in  its  turn  ;  all  depends  on  one  or  two  active  men ; 
but  the  secretary  takes  a  wife,  or  the  professor  gets 
a  stall ;  and  then  the  meetings  are  called  irregularly, 
and  nothing  is  done  in  them,  and  so  gradually  the 
affair  dwindles  and  dies." 

Sheffield  asked  whether  the  present  movement  had 
not  spread  too  widely  through  the  country  for  such  a 
termination ;  he  did  not  know  much  about  it  himself, 
but  the  papers  were  full  of  it,  and  it  was  the  talk  of 
every  neighbourhood  ;  it  was  not  confined  to  Oxford. 

"  I  don't  know  about  the  country,"  said  Malcolm, 
"  that  is  a  large  question  ;  but  it  has  not  the  elements 
of  stability  here.  These  gentlemen  will  take  livings  and 
marry,  and  that  will  be  the  end  of  the  business.  I  am 
not  speaking  against  them ;  they  are,  I  believe,  very 
respectable  men  ;  but  they  are  riding  on  the  springtide 
of  a  fashion." 

Charles  said  it  was  a  nuisance  to.  see  the  party- 
spirit  it  introduced.  Oxford  ought  to  be  a  place  of 
quiet  and  study  ;  peace  and  the  Muses  always  went 
together ;  whereas  there  was  talk,  talk,  in  every 
quarter.  A  man  could  not  go  about  his  duties  in  a 
5 


66  OXFORD  FASHIONS. 

natural  way,  and  take  every  one  as  he  came,  but  was 
obliged  to  take  part  in  questions,  and  to  consider 
points  which  he  might  wish  to  put  from  him,  and  must 
sport  an  opinion  when  he  really  had  none  to  give. 

Mr.  Malcolm  assented  in  a  half-absent  way,  looking 
at  the  view  before  him,  and  seemingly  enjoying  it. 
"  People  call  this  country  ugly,"  said  he,  "  and  per- 
haps it  is  ;  but  whether  I  am  used  to  it  or  no,  I  always 
am  pleased  with  it.  The  lights  are  always  new  ;  and 
thus  the  landscape,  if  it  deserves  the  name,  is  always 
presented  in  a  new  dress.  I  have  known  Shotover 
there  take  the  most  opposite  Jiues,  sometimes  purple, 
sometimes  a  bright  saffron  or  tawny  orange."  Here 
he  stopped  :  "  Yes,  you  speak  of  party-spirit ;  very 
true,  there's  a  good  deal  of  it.  .  .  No,  I  don't  think 
there's  much,"  he  continued,  rousing ;  "  certainly 
there  is  more  division  just  at  this  minute  in  Oxford, 
but  there  always  is  division,  always  rivalry.  The 
separate  societies  have  their  own  interests  and  honour 
to  maintain,  and  quarrel,  as  the  •  orders  do  in  the 
Church  of  Rome.  No,  that's  too  grand  a  comparison  ; 
rather,  Oxford  is  like  an  almshouse  for  clergymen's 
widows.  Self-importance,  jealousy,  tittle-tattle  are  the 
order  of  the  day.  It  has  always  been  so  in  my  time. 
The  two  great  ladies,  Mrs.  Vice-Chancellor  and  Mrs. 
Divinity-Professor,  can't  agree,  and  have  followings 
respectively  :  or  Vice-Chancellor  himself,  being  a  new 
broom,  sweeps  all  the  young  Masters  clean  out  of  Con- 
vocation House,  to  their  great  indignation  :  or  Mr. 
Slaney,  Dean  of  St.  Peter's,  does  not  scruple  to  say  in 
'  a  stage-coach  that  Mr.  Wood  is  no  scholar ;  on  which 
the  said  Wood  calls  him  in  return  '  slanderous  Slaney  ; ' 


OXFORD  FASHIONS.  67 

or  the  elderly  Mr.  Barge,  late  Senior  Fellow  of  St. 
Michael's,  thinks  that  his  pretty  bride  has  not  been 
received  with  due  honours  ;  or  Dr.  Crotchet  is  for  years 
kept  out  of  his  destined  bishopric  by  a  sinister  in- 
fluence ;  or  Mr.  Professor  Carraway  has  been  infa- 
mously shown  up,  in  the  Edinburgh,  by  an  idle  fellow 
whom  he  plucked  in  the  schools  ;  or  (majora  movemus) 
three  colleges  interchange  a  mortal  vow  of  opposition 
to  a  fourth  ;  or  the  young  working  Masters  conspire 
against  the  Heads.  Now,  however,  we  are  improving ; 
if  we  must  quarrel,  let  it  be  the  rivalry  of  intellect  and 
conscience,  rather  than  of  interest  or  temper ;  let  us 
contend  for  things,  not  for  shadows." 

Sheffield  was  pleased  at  this,  and  ventured  to  say 
the  present  state  of  things  was  more  real,  and  there- 
fore more  healthy.  Mr.  Malcolm  did  not  seem  to  hear 
him,  for  he  did  not  reply ;  and,  as  they  were  now  ap- 
proaching the  bridge  again,  the  conversation  stopped. 
Sheffield  looked  slily  at  Charles,  as  Mr.  Malcolm  pro- 
ceeded with  them  up  High  Street ;  and  both  of  them 
had  the  triumph  and  the  amusement  of  being  convoyed 
safely  past  a  proctor,  who  was  patrolling  it,  under  the 
protection  of  a  Master. — Loss  and  Gain,  ed.  1893, 
chap.  5,  pp.  29-33  (1848). 


flewman. 

MR.  KINGSLEY  begins  then  by  exclaiming, — "  O  the 
chicanery,  the  wholesale  fraud,  the  vile  hypocrisy,  the 
conscience-killing  tyranny  of  Rome  !  We  have  not  far 
to  seek  for  an  evidence  of  it !  There's  Father  Newman 
to  wit :  one  living  specimen  is  worth  a  hundred  dead 
ones.  He,  a  Priest,  writing  of  Priests,  tells  us  that 
lying  is  never  any  harm." 

I  interpose  :  "  You  are  taking  a  most  extraordinary 
liberty  with  my  name.  If  I  have  said  this,  tell  me 
when  and  where." 

Mr.  Kingsley  replies  :  "  You  said  it,  Reverend  Sir, 
in  a  sermon  which  you  preached,  when  a  Protestant, 
as  Vicar  of  St.  Mary's,  and  published  in  1844 ;  and  I 
could  read  you  a  very  salutary  lecture  on  the  effects 
which  that  Sermon  had  at  the  time  on  my  own  opinion 
of  you." 

I  make  answer  :  "  Oh.  .  .  Not,  it  seems,  as  a  priest 
speaking  of  priests ;  but  let  us  have  the  passage." 

Mr.  Kingsley  relaxes :  "  Do  you  know  I  like  your 
tone.  From  your  tone,  I  rejoice,  greatly  rejoice,  to  be 
able  to  believe  that  you  did  not  mean  what  you  said." 

I  rejoin  :  "  Mean  it !  I  maintain  I  never  said  it, 
whether  as  a  Protestant  or  as  a  Catholic." 

Mr.  Kingsley  replies  :    "  I  waive  that  point." 

I  object :  "  Is  it  possible  ?  What  ?  waive  the  main 
68 


KINGSL EY AND  NE WMAN.  69 

question  !  I  either  said  it  or  I  didn't.  You  have 
made  a  monstrous  charge  against  me  ;  direct,  distinct, 
public.  You  are  bound  to  prove  it  as  directly,  as 
distinctly,  as  publicly  ; — or  to  own  you  can't !  " 

"Well,  "says  Mr.  Kingsley,  "if  you  are  quite  sure 
you  did  hot  say  it,  I'll  take  your  word  for  it;  I 
really  will." 

My  word 7  I  am  dumb.  Somehow  I  thought  that 
it  was  my  word  that  happened  to  be  on  trial.  The 
word  of  a  Professor  of  lying,  that  he  does  not  lie  ! 

But  Mr.  Kingsley  reassures  me  :  "  We  are  both 
gentlemen,"  he  says  :  "  I  have  done  as  much  as  one 
English  gentleman  can  expect  from  another." 

I  begin  to  see  :  he  thought  me  a  gentleman  at  the 
very  time  that  he  said  I  taught  lying  on  system.  After 
all,  it  is  not  I,  but  it  is  Mr.  Kingsley  who  did  not 
mean  what  he  said.  "  Habemus  confitentem  reum." 
So  we  have  confessedly  come  round  to  this,  preaching 
without  practising ;  the  common  "theme  of  satirists 
from  Juvenal  to  Walter  Scott ! — Apologia^  ed.  1865, 
pp.  17-18  (1864). 


I  cannot  be  sorry  to  have  forced  my  Accuser  to 
bring  out  in  fulness  his  charges  against  me.  It  is  far 
better  that  he  should  discharge  his  thoughts  upon  me 
in  my  lifetime,  than  after  I  am  dead.  Under  the 
circumstances  I  am  happy  in  having  the  opportunity 
of  reading  the  worst  that  can  be  said  of  me  by  a  writer 
who  has  taken  pains  with  his  work  and  is  well  satisfied 
with  it.  I  account  it  a  gain  to  be  surveyed  from  with- 
out by  one  who  hates  the  principles  which  are  nearest 


70  KINGSLE y  AND  NE  WMAN. 

to  my  heart,  has  no  personal  knowledge  of  me  to  set 
right  his  misconceptions  of  my  doctrine,  and  who  has 
some  motive  or  other  to  be  as  severe  with  me  as  he 
can  possibly  be.  .  .  . 

But  I  really  feel  sad  for  what  I  am  obliged  now  to 
say.  I  am  in  warfare  with  him,  but  I  wish  him  no  ill ; 
— it  is  very  difficult  to  get  up  resentment  towards 
persons  whom  one  has  never  seen.  It  is  easy  enough 
to  be  irritated  with  friends  or  foes  vis-a-vis ,-  but, 
though  I  am  writing  with  all  my  heart  against  what  he 
has  said  of  me,  I  am  not  conscious  of  personal  unkind- 
ness  towards  himself.  I  think  it  necessary  to  write  as 
I  am  writing,  for  my  own  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  the 
Catholic  Priesthood;  but  I  wish  to  impute  nothing 
worse  to  him  than  that  he  has  been  furiously  carried 
away  by  his  feelings.  Yet  what  shall  I  say  of  the  up- 
shot of  all  his  talk  of  my  economies  and  equivocations 
and  the  like  ?  What  is  the  precise  work  which  it  is 
directed  to  effect  ?  I  am  at  war  with  him ;  but  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  legitimate  warfare  :  war  has  its  laws  : 
there  are  things  which  may  fairly  be  done,  and  things 
which  may  not  be  done.  I  say  it  with  shame  and 
with  stern  sorrow ; — he  has  attempted  a  great  trans- 
gression ;  he  has  attempted  (as  I  may  call  it)  to  poison 
the  wells.  I  will  quote  him  and  explain  what  I  mean. 
.  .  .  He  says, — 

"  I  am  henceforth  in  doubt  and  fear,  as  much  as  any 
honest  man  can  be,  concerning  every  word  Dr.  Newman 
may  write.  How  can  I  tell  that  I  shall  not  be  the  dupe 
of  some  cunning  equivocation,  of  one  of  the  three  kinds 
laid  down  as  permissible  by  the  blessed  Alfonso  da 
Liguori  and  his  pupils,  even  when  confirmed  by  an 


KINGSLE  Y  AND  NE  WMAtt.  7 1 

oath  because  '  then  we  do  not  deceive  our  neighbour, 
but  allow  him  to  deceive  himself  ? '  ...  .  It  is  admis- 
sible, therefore,  to  use  words  and  sentences  which  have 
a  double  signification,  and  leave  the  hapless  hearer  to 
take  which  of  them  he  may  choose.  What  proof  have 
7,  then,  that  by  '  mean  it?  I  never  said  it  I'  Dr.  New- 
man does  not  signify,  I  did  not  say  it,  but  I  did  mean 
it?"— Pp.  44,45. 

Now  these  insinuations  and  questions  shall  be 
answered  in  their  proper  places  ;  here  I  will  but  say 
that  I  scorn  and  detest  lying,  and  quibbling,  and 
double-tongued  practice,  and  slyness,  and  cunning, 
and  smoothness,  and  cant,  and  pretence,  quite  as 
much  as  any  Protestants  hate  them  ;  and  I  pray  to  be 
kept  from  the  snare  of  them.  But  all  this  is  just  now 
by  the  bye  ;  my  present  subject  is  my  Accuser  ;  what  I 
insist  upon  here  is  this  unmanly  attempt  of  his,  in  his 
concluding  pages,  to  cut  the  ground  from  under  my 
feet; — to  poison  by  anticipation  the  public  mind 
against  me,  John  Henry  Newman,  and  to  infuse  into 
the  imaginations  of  my  readers,  suspicion  and  mistrust 
of  everything  that  I  may  say  in  reply  to  him.  This  I 
call  poisoning  the  wells. 

"  I  am  henceforth  in  doubt  and  fear"  he  says,  "  as 
much  as  any  honest  man  can  be,  concerning  every  word 
T3r.  Newman  may  write.  How  can  I  tell  that  I  shall 
not  be  the  dupe  of  some  cunning  equivocation  ?".... 

Well,  I  can  only  say,  that,  if  his  taunt  is  to  take  ef- 
fect, I  am  but  wasting  my  time  in  saying  a  word  in 
answer  to  his  calumnies  ;  and  this  is  precisely  what  he 
knows  and  intends  to  be  its  fruit.  I  can  hardly  get 
myself  to  protest  against  a  method  of  controversy  so 


7 2  KINGSL E  Y  AND  NE  WMAtf. 

base  and  cruel,  lest  in  doing  so,  I  should  be  violating 
my  self-respect  and  self-possession  ;  but  most  base  and 
most  cruel  it  is.  We  all  know  how  our  imagination 
runs  away  with  us,  how  suddenly  and  at  what  a  pace ; 
— the  saying,  "  Caesar's  wife  should  not  be  suspected," 
is  an  instance  of  what  I  mean.  The  habitual  preju- 
dice, the  humour  of  the  moment,  is  the  turning-point 
which  leads  us  to  read  a  defence  in  a  good  sense  or  a 
bad.  We  interpret  it  by  our  antecedent  impressions. 
The  very  same  sentiments,  according  as  our  jealousy 
is  or  is  not  awake,  or  our  aversion  stimulated,  are 
tokens  of  truth  or  of  dissimulation  and  pretence. 
There  is  a  story  of  a  sane  person  being  by  mistake 
shut  up  in  the  wards  of  a  Lunatic  Asylum,  and  that, 
when  he  pleaded  his  cause  to  some  strangers  visiting 
the  establishment,  the  only  remark  he  elicited  in 
answer  was,  "  How  naturally  he  talks !  you  would 
think  he  was  in  his  senses."  Controversies  should  be 
decided  by  the  reason  ;  is  it  legitimate  warfare  to  ap- 
peal to  the  misgivings  of  the  public  mind  and  to  its 
dislikings  ?  Anyhow,  if  my  accuser  is  able  thus  to 
practise  upon  my  readers,  the  more  I  succeed,  the  less 
will  be  my  success.  If  I  am  natural,  he  will  tell 
them  "  Ars  est  celare  artem  ;  "  if  I  am  convincing,  he 
will  suggest  that  I  am  an  able  logician  ;  if  I  show 
warmth,  I  am  acting  the  indignant  innocent ;  if  I  am 
calm,  I  am  thereby  detected  as  a  smooth  hypocrite  ;  if 
I  clear  up  difficulties,  I  am  too  plausible  and  perfect  to 
be  true.  The  more  triumphant  are  my  statements,  the 
more  certain  will  be  my  defeat. 

So  will   it  be  if  my  Accuser   succeeds   in  his  ma- 
noeuvre ;  but  I   do  not  for  an  instant  believe  that  he 


KINGSLE  Y  AND  NE  WMAN.  73 

will.  Whatever  judgment  my  readers  may  eventually 
form  of  me  from  these  pages,  I  am  confident  that  they 
will  believe  me  in  what  I  shall  say  in  the  course  of 
them.  I  have  no  misgiving  at  all,  that  they  will  be 
ungenerous  or  harsh  towards  a  man  who  has  been  so 
long  before  the  eyes  of  the  world  ;  who  has  so  many  to 
speak  of  him  from  personal  knowledge ;  whose  natural 
impulse  it  has  ever  been  to  speak  out ;  who  has  ever 
spoken  too  much  rather  than  too  little ;  who  would 
have  saved  himself  many  a  scrape,  if  he  had  been  wise 
enough  to  hold  his  tongue  ;  who  has  ever  been  fair  to 
the  doctrines  and  arguments  of  his  opponents ;  who 
has  never  slurred  over  facts  and  reasonings  which  told 
against  himself ;  who  has  never  given  his  name  or 
authority  to  proofs  which  he  thought  unsound,  or  to 
testimony  which  he  did  not  think  at  least  plausible  ; 
who  has  never  shrunk  from  confessing  a  fault  when  he 
felt  that  he  had  committed  one  ;  who  has  ever  con- 
sulted for  others  more  than  for  himself  ;  who  has  given 
up  much  that  he  loved  and  prized  and  could  have  re- 
tained, but  that  he  loved  honesty  better  than  name, 
and  Truth  better  than  dear  friends.  .  .  . 

What  then  shall  be  the  special  imputations,  against 
which  I  shall  throw  myself  in  these  pages,  out  of  the 
thousand  and  one  which  my  Accuser  directs  upon  me  ? 
I  mean  to  confine  myself  to  one,  for  there  is  only  one 
about  which  I  much  care, — the  charge  of  Untruthful- 
ness.  He  may  cast  upon  me  as  many  other  impu- 
tations as  he  pleases,  and  they  may  stick  on  me,  as 
long  as  they  can,  in  the  course  of  nature.  They  will 
fall  to  the  ground  in  their  season. 


74  KINGSLE  Y  AND  NE  WMAN. 

And  indeed  I  think  the  same  of  the  charge  of  Un- 
truthfulness,  and  select  it  from  the  rest,  not  because  it 
is  more,  formidable  but  because  it  is  more  serious. 
Like  the  rest,  it  may  disfigure  me  for  a  time,  but  it 
will  not  stain :  Archbishop  Whately  used  to  say, 
"  Throw  dirt  enough,  and  some  will  stick  ;  "  well,  will 
stick,  but  not,  will  stain.  I  think  he  used  to  mean 
"  stain,"  and  I  do  not  agree  with  him.  Some  dirt 
sticks  longer  than  other  dirt ;  but  no  dirt  is  immortal. 
According  to  the  old  saying,  Praevalebit  Veritas. 
There  are  virtues  indeed,  which  the  world  is  not  fitted 
to  judge  of  or  to  uphold,  such  as  faith,  hope,  and 
charity :  but  it  can  judge  about  Truthfulness  ;  it  can 
judge  about  the  natural  virtues,  and  Truthfulness  is 
one  of  them.  Natural  virtues  may  also  become  super- 
natural ;  Truthfulness  is  such  ;  but  that  does  not  with- 
draw it  from  the  jurisdiction  of  mankind  at  large.  It 
may  be  more  difficult  in  this  or  that  particular  case  for 
men  to  take  cognizance  of  it,  as  it  may  be  difficult  for 
the  Court  of  Queen's  Bench  at  Westminster  to  try  a 
case  fairly  which  took  place  in  Hindostan  :  but  that  is 
a  question  of  capacity,  not  of  right.  Mankind  has  the 
right  to  judge  of  Truthfulness  in  a  Catholic,  as  in  the 
case  of  a  Protestant,  of  an  Italian,  or  of  a  Chinese.  I 
have  never  doubted,  that  in  my  hour,  in  God's  hour, 
my  avenger  will  appear,  and  the  world  will  acquit  me 
of  untruthfulness,  even  though  it  be  not  while  I  live. 

Still  more  confident  am  I  of  such  eventual  acquittal, 
seeing  that  my  judges  are  my  own  countrymen.  I 
consider,  indeed,  Englishmen  the  most  suspicious  and 
touchy  of  mankind ;  I  think  them  unreasonable,  and 
unjust  in  their  seasons  of  excitement ;  but  I  had  rather 


KINGSLE  Y  AND  NE  WMAM  75 

be  an  Englishman  (as  in  fact  I  am,)  than  belong  to 
any  other  race  under  heaven.  They  are  as  generous, 
as  they  are  hasty  and  burly  -,  and  their  repentance  for 
their  injustice  is  greater  than  their  sin. 

For  twenty  years  and  more  I  have  borne  an  imputa- 
tion, of  which  I  am  at  least  as  sensitive,  who  am  the 
object  of  it,  as  they  can  be,  who  are  only  the  judges. 
I  have  not  set  myself  to  remove  it,  first,  because  I 
never  have  had  an  opening  to  speak,  and,  next,  be- 
cause I  never  saw  in  them  the  disposition  to  hear.  I 
have  wished  to  appeal  from  Philip  drunk  to  Philip 
sober.  When  shall  I  pronounce  him  to  be  himself 
again  ?  If  I  may  judge  from  the  tone  of  the  public 
press,  which  represents  the  public  voice,  I  have  great 
reason  to  take  heart  at  this  time.  I  have  been  treated 
by  contemporary  critics  in  this  controversy  with  great 
fairness  and  gentleness,  and  I  am  grateful  to  them  for 
it.  However,  the  decision  on  the  time  and  mode  of 
my  defence  has  been  taken  out  of  my  hands ;  and  I 
am  thankful  that  it  has  been  so.  I  am  bound  now  as 
a  duty  to  myself,  to  the  Catholic  cause,  to  the  Catholic 
Priesthood,  to  give  account  of  myself  without  any  de- 
lay, when  I  am  so  rudely  and  circumstantially  charged 
with  Untruthfulness.  I  accept  the  challenge ;  I  shall 
do  my  best  to  meet  it,  and  I  shall  be  content  when  I 
have  done  so. 

It  is  not  my  present  accuser  alone  who  entertains, 
and  has  entertained,  so  dishonourable  an  opinion  of 
me  and  of  my  writings.  It  is  the  impression  of  large 
classes  of  men  ;  the  impression  twenty  years  ago  and 
the  impression  now.  There  has  been  a  general  feeling 


7  6  KINGSLE  y  AND  NE  WMAN. 

that  I  was  for  years  where  I  had  no  right  to  be  ;  that 
I  was  a  "  Romanist "  in  Protestant  livery  and  service  ; 
that  I  was  doing  the  work  of  a  hostile  Church  in  the 
bosom  of  the  English  Establishment,  and  knew  it,  or 
ought  to  have  known  it.  There  was  no  need  of  argu- 
ing about  particular  passages  in  my  writings,  when  the 
fact  was  so  patent,  as  men  thought  it  to  be. 

First  it  was  certain,  and  I  could  not  myself  deny  it, 
that  I  scouted  the  name  "  Protestant."  It  was  certain 
again,  that  many  of  the  doctrines  which  I  professed 
were  popularly  and  generally  known  as  badges  of  the 
Roman  Church,  as  distinguished  from  the  faith  of  the 
Reformation.  Next,  how  could  I  have  come  by  them  ? 
Evidently,  I  had  certain  friends  and  advisers  who  did 
not  appear  ;  there  was  some  underground  communica- 
tion between  Stonyhurst  or  Oscott  and  my  rooms  at 
Oriel.  Beyond  a  doubt,  I  was  advocating  certain 
doctrines,  not  by  accident,  but  on  an  understanding 
with  ecclesiastics  of  the  old  religion.  Then  men  went 
further,  and  said  that  I  had  actually  been  received 
into  that  religion,  and  withal  had  leave  given  me  to 
profess  myself  a  Protestant  still.  Others  went  even 
further,  and  gave  it  out  to  the  world,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  of  which  they  themselves  had  the  proof  in  their 
hands,  that  I  was  actually  a  Jesuit.  And  when  the 
opinions  which  I  advocated  spread,  and  younger  men 
went  further  than  I,  the  feeling  against  me  waxed 
stronger  and  took  a  wider  range. 

And  now  indignation  arose  at  the  knavery  of  a  con- 
spiracy such  as  this  : — and  it  became  of  course  all  the 
greater  in  consequence  of  its  being  the  received  belief 
of  the  public  at  large,  that  craft  and  intrigue,  such  as 


KINGSLE  Y  AND  NE  WMAtf.  7 7 

they  fancied  they  beheld  with  their  eyes,  were  the 
very  instruments  to  which  the  Catholic  Church  has  in 
these  last  centuries  been  indebted  for  her  maintenance 
and  extension. 

There  was  another  circumstance  still,  which  in- 
creased the  irritation  and  aversion  felt  by  the  large 
classes,  of  whom  I  have  been  speaking,  against  the 
preachers  of  doctrines,  so  new  to  them  and  so  unpalat- 
able ;  and  that  was,  that  they  developed  them  in  so 
measured  a  way. '  If  they  were  inspired  by  Roman 
theologians,  (and  this  was  taken  for  granted),  why  did 
they  not  speak  out  at  once  ?  Why  did  they  keep  the 
world  in  such  suspense  and  anxiety  as  to  what  was 
coming  next,  and  what  was  to  be  the  upshot  of  the 
whole  ?  Why  this  reticence,  and  half-speaking,  and 
apparent  indecision  ?  It  was  plain  that  the  plan  of 
operations  had  been  carefully  mapped  out  from  the 
first,  and  that  these  men  were  cautiously  advancing  to- 
wards its  accomplishment,  as  far  as  was  safe  at  the 
moment ;  that  their  aim  and  their  hope  was  to  carry 
off  a  large  body  with  them  of  the  young  and  the  igno- 
rant ;  that  they  meant  gradually  to  leaven  the  minds  of 
the  rising  generation,  and  to  open  the  gates  of  that 
city,  of  which  they  were  the  sworn  defenders,  to  the 
enemy  who  lay  in  ambush  outside  of  it.  And  when  in 
spite  of  the  many  protestations  of  the  party  to  the  con- 
trary, there  was  at  length  an  actual  movement  among 
their  disciples,  and  one  went  over  to  Rome,  and  then 
another,  the  worst  anticipations  and  the  worst  judg- 
ments which  had  been  formed  of  them  received  their 
justification.  And,  lastly,  when  men  first  had  said  of 
me,  "  You  will  see,  he  will  go,  he  is  only  biding  his 


78  KINGSL E  Y  AND 

time,  he  is  waiting  the  word  of  command  from  Rome," 
and,  when  after  all,  after  my  arguments  and  denuncia- 
tions of  former  years,  at  length  I  did  leave  the  Anglican 
Church  for  the  Roman,  then  they  said  to  each  other, 
"  It  is  just  as  we  said  :  we  knew  it  would  be  so." 

This  was  the  state  of  mind  of  masses  of  men  twenty 
years  ago,  who  took  no  more  than  an  external  and 
common  sense  view  of  what  was  going  on.  And  partly 
the  tradition,  partly  the  effect  of  that  feeling,  remains 
to  the  present  time  Certainly  I  consider  that,  in  my 
own  case,  it  is  the  great  obstacle  in  the  way  of  my 
being  favourably  heard,  as  at  present,  when  I  have  to 
make  my  defence.  Not  only  am  I  now  a  member  of  a 
most  un-English  communion,  whose  great  aim  is  con- 
sidered to  be  the  extinction  of  Protestantism  and  the 
Protestant  Church,  and  whose  means  of  attack  are 
popularly  supposed  to  be  unscrupulous  cunning  and 
deceit,  but  how  came  I  originally  to  have  any  relations 
with  the  Church  of  Rome  at  all  ?  did  I,  or  my  opin- 
ions, drop  from  the  sky  ?  how  came  I,  in  Oxford,  in 
gremio  Universitatis,  to  present  myself  to  the  eyes  of 
men  in  that  full-blown  investiture  of  Popery  ?  How 
could  I  dare,  how  could  I  have  the  conscience,  with 
warnings,  with  prophecies,  with  accusations  against 
me,  to  persevere  in  a  path  which  steadily  advanced  to- 
wards, which  ended  in,  the  religion  of  Rome  ?  And 
how  am  I  now  to  be  trusted,  when  long  ago  I  was 
trusted,  and  was  found  wanting  ? 

It  is  this  which  is  the  strength  of  the  case  of  my 
Accuser  against  me ; — not  the  articles  of  impeachment 
which  he  has  framed  from  my  writings,  and  which  I 
shall  easily  crumble  into  dust,  but  the  bias  of  the 


KINGSLE  Y  AND  NE  WMAN.  79 

court.  It  is  the  state  of  the  atmosphere  ;  it  is  the 
vibration  all  around,  which  will  echo  his  bold  assertion 
of  my  dishonesty  ;  it  is  that  prepossession  against  me, 
which  takes  it  for  granted  that,  when  my  reasoning  is 
convincing  it  is  only  ingenious,  and  that  when  my 
statements  are  unanswerable,  there  is  always  something 
put  out  of  sight  or  hidden  in  my  sleeve;  it  is  that 
plausible,  but  cruel  conclusion  to  which  men  are  apt  to 
jump,  that  when  much  is  imputed,  much  must  be  true, 
and  that  it  is  more  likely  that  one  should  be  to  blame, 
than  that  many  should  be  mistaken  in  blaming  him ; — 
these  are  the  real  foes  which  I  have  to  fight,  and  the 
auxiliaries  to  whom  my  Accuser  makes  his  advances. 

Well,  I  must  break  through  this  barrier  of  prejudice 
against  me  if  I  can ;  and  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  do 
so.  When  first  I  read  the  Pamphlet  of  Accusation,  I 
almost  despaired  of  meeting  effectively  such  a  heap  of 
misrepresentations  and  such  a  vehemence  of  animosity. 
What  was  the  good  of  answering  first  one  point,  and 
then  another,  and  going  through  the  whole  circle  of  its 
abuse  ;  when  my  answer  to  the  first  point  would  be 
forgotten,  as  soon  as  I  got  to  the  second  ?  What  was 
the  use  of  bringing  out  half  a  hundred  separate  prin- 
ciples or  views  for  the  refutation  of  the  separate  counts 
in  the  Indictment,  when  rejoinders  of  this  sort  would 
but  confuse  and  torment  the  reader  by  their  number 
and  their  diversity  ?  What  hope  was  there  of  condens- 
ing into  a  pamphlet  of  a  readable  length,  matter  which 
ought  freely  to  expand  itself  into  half  a  dozen 
volumes  ?  What  means  was  there,  except  the  ex- 
penditure of  interminable  pages,  to  set  right  even  one 
of  that  series  of  "  single  passing  hints,"  to  use  my 


8o  KINGSLEY  AND  NEWMAN. 

Assailant's  own  language,  which,  "  as  with  his  fingei 
tip  he  had  delivered  "  against  me  ? 

All  those  separate  charges  had  their  force  in  being 
illustrations  of  one  and  the  same  great  imputation. 
He  had  already  a  positive  idea  to  illuminate  his  whole 
matter,  and  to  stamp  it  with  a  force,  and  to  quicken  it 
with  an  interpretation.  He  called  me  a  liar, — a  sim- 
ple, a  broad,  an  intelligible,  to  the  English  public  a 
plausible  arraignment ;  but  for  me,  to  answer  in  detail 
charge  one  by  reason  one,  and  charge  two  by  reason 
two,  and  charge  three  by  reason  three,  and  so  on 
through  the  whole  string  both  of  accusations  and  re- 
plies, each  of  which  was  to  be  independent  of  the  rest, 
this  would  be  certainly  labour  lost  as  regards  any 
effective  result.  What  I  needed  was  a  corresponding 
antagonist  unity  in  my  defence,  and  where  was  that  to 
be  found?  We  see,  in  the  case  of  commentators  on 
the  prophecies  of  Scripture,  an  exemplification  of  the 
principle  on  which  I  am  insisting  ;  viz.,  how  much 
more  powerful  even  a  false  interpretation  of  the  sacred 
text  is  than  none  at  all ; — how  a  certain  key  to  the  vis- 
ions of  the  Apocalypse,  for  instance,  may  cling  to  the 
mind  (I  have  found  it  so  in  the  case  of  my  own),  be- 
cause the  view,  which  it  opens  on  us,  is  positive  and 
objective,  in  spite  of  the  fullest  demonstration  that  it 
really  has  no  claim  upon  our  reception.  The  reader 
says,  "  What  else  can  the  prophecy  mean  ? "  just  as 
my  Accuser  asks,  "What,  then,  does  Dr.  Newman 

mean  ? " I  reflected,  and  I  saw  a  way  out  of 

my  perplexity. 

Yes,  I  said  to  myself,  his  very  question  is  about  my 
meaning;  "  What  does  Dr.  Newman  mean  ? "  It  pointed 


KINGSLE  Y  AND  NE  WMAN.  8 1 

in  the  very  same  direction  as  that  into  which  my  mus- 
ings had  turned  me  already.  He  asks  what  I  mean ; 
not  about  my  words,  not  about  my  arguments,  not 
about  my  actions,  as  his  ultimate  point,  but-  about  that 
living  intelligence,  by  which  I  write,  and  argue,  and 
act.  He  asks  about  my  Mind  and  its  Beliefs  and  its 
sentiments ;  and  he  shall  be  answered  ; — not  for  his 
own  sake,  but  for  mine,  for  the  sake  of  the  Religion 
which  I  profess,  and  of  the  Priesthood  in  which  I  am 
unworthily  included,  and  of  my  friends  and  of  my 
foes,  and  of  that  general  public  which  consists  of 
neither  one  nor  the  other,  but  of  well-wishers,  lovers  of 
fair  play,  sceptical  cross-questioners,  interested  in- 
quirers, curious  lookers-on,  and  simple  strangers  un- 
concerned yet  not  careless  about  the  issue, — for  the 
sake  of  all  these  he  shall  be  answered. 

My  perplexity  had  not  lasted  half  an  hour.  I  recog- 
nized what  I  had  to  do,  though  I  shrank  from  both 
the  task  and  the  exposure  which  it  would  entail.  I 
must,  I  said,  give  the  true  key  to  my  whole  life ;  I 
must  show  what  I  am.  that  it  may  be  seen  what  I  am 
not,  and  that  the  phantom  may  be  extinguished  which 
gibbers  instead  of  me.  I  wish  to  be  known  as  a  liv- 
ing man,  and  not  as  a  scarecrow  which  is  dressed  up 
in  my  clothes.  False  ideas  may  be  refuted  indeed  by 
arguments,  but  by  true  ideas  alone  are  ihey  expelled. 
I  will  vanquish,  not  my  Accuser,  but  my  judges.  I 
will  indeed  answer  his  charges  and  criticisms  on  me 
one  by  one,*  lest  any  one  should  say  that  they  are 
unanswerable,  but  such  a  work  shall  not  be  the  scope 

*  This  was  done  in  the  Appendix,  of  which  the  more  important 
parts  are  preserved  in  the  Notes. 
6 


82  KINGSLE  Y  AND  NE  WMAN. 

nor  the  substance  of  my  reply.  I  will  draw  out,  as  far 
as  may  be,  the  history  of  my  mind  ;  I  will  state  the 
point  at  which  I  began,  in  what  external  suggestion 
or  accident  each  opinion  had  its  rise,  how  far  and  how 
they  developed  from  within,  how  they  grew,  were 
modified,  were  combined,  were  in  collision  with  each 
other,  and  were  changed ;  again  how  I  conducted  my- 
self towards  them,  and  how,  and  how  far,  and  for  how 
long  a  time,  I  thought  I  could  hold  them  consistently 
with  the  ecclesiastical  engagements  which  I  had  made 
and  with  the  position  which  I  held.  I  must  show, — 
what  is  the  very  truth, — that  the  doctrines  which  I 
held,  and  have  held  for  so  many  years,  have  been 
taught  me  (speaking  humanly)  partly  by  the  sugges- 
tion of  Protestant  friends,  partly  by  the  teaching  of 
books,  and  partly  by  the  action  of  my  own  mind  :  and 
thus  I  shall  account  for  that  phenomenon  which  to  so 
many  seems  so  wonderful,  that  I  should  have  left  "  my 
kindred  and  my  father's  house  "  for  a  Church  from 
which  once  I  turned  away  with  dread  ;  so  wonderful  to 
them  !  as  if  forsooth  a  Religion  which  has  flourished 
through  so  many  ages,  among  so  many  nations,  amid 
such  varieties  of  social  life,  in  such  contrary  classes 
and  conditions  of  men,  and  after  so  many  revolutions, 
political  and  civil,  could  not  subdue  the  reason  and 
overcome  the  heart,  without  the  aid  of  fraud  in  the 
process  and  the  sophistries  of  the  schools. — Apologia, 
ed.  1890,  pp.  xii-xxiii  (1864). 


<Ibe  f  creliflion  of  tbe 

THESE  instances  give  us  warning:— Is  the  enemy 
of  Christ,  and  His  Church,  to  arise  out  of  a  certain 
special  falling  away  from  GOD  ?  And  is  there  no  rea- 
son to  fear  that  some  such  Apostasy  is  gradually  pre- 
paring, gathering,  hastening  on  in  this  very  day  ?  For 
is  there  not  at  this  very  time  a  special  effort  made  al- 
most all  over  the  world,  that  is,  every  here  and  there, 
more  or  less  in  sight  or  out  of  sight,  in  this  or  that 
place,  but  most  visibly  or  formidably  in  its  most  civil- 
ized and  powerful  parts,  an  effort  to  do  without  Reli- 
gion ?  Is  there  not  an  opinion  avowed  and  growing, 
that  a  nation  has  nothing  to  do  with  Religion  ;  that  it 
is  merely  a  matter  for  each  man's  own  conscience  ? — • 
which  is  all  one  with  saying  that  we  may  let  the  Truth 
fail  from  the  earth  without  trying  to  continue  it  in  and 
on  after  our  time.  Is  there  not  a  vigorous  and  united 
movement  in  all  countries  to  cast  down  the  Church  of 
Christ  from  power  and  place  ?  Is  there  not  a  fever- 
ish and  ever-busy  endeavour  to  get  rid  of  the  necessity 
of  Religion  in  public  transactions  ?  for  example,  an  at- 
tempt to  get  rid  of  oaths,  under  a  pretence  that  they 
are  too  sacred  for  affairs  of  common  life,  instead  of 
providing  that  they  be  taken  more  reverently  and  more 
suitably  ?  an  attempt  to  educate  without  Religion-  ? — 
that  is,  by  putting  all  forms  of  Religion  together, 

83 


84  THE  IRRELIGION  OF  THE  AGE. 

which  comes  to  the  same  thing; — an  attempt  to  en- 
force temperance,  and  the  virtues  which  flow  from  it, 
without  Religion,  by  means  of  Societies  which  are 
built  on  mere  principles  of  utility  ?  an  attempt  to  make 
expedience,  and  not  truth,  the  end  and  the  rule  of  meas- 
ures of  State  and  the  enactments  of  Law  ?  an  attempt 
to  make  numbers,  and  not  the  Truth,  the  ground  of 
maintaining,  or  not  maintaining,  this  or  that  creed,  as 
if  we  had  any  reason  whatever  in  Scripture  for  think- 
ing that  the  many  will  be  in  the  right,  and  the  few  in 
the  wrong  ?  An  attempt  to<deprive  the  Bible  of  its  one 
meaning  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other,  to  make  people 
think  that  it  may  have  an  hundred  meanings  all 
equally  good,  or,  in  other  words,  that  it  has  no  mean- 
ing at  all,  is  a  dead  letter,  and  may  be  put  aside  ?  an 
attempt  to  supersede  Religion  altogether,  as  far  as  it 
is  external  or  objective,  as  far  as  it  is  displayed  in  ordi- 
nances, or  can  be  expressed  by  written  words, — to 
confine  it  to  our  inward  feelings,  and  thus,  considering 
how  variable,  how  evanescent  our  feelings  are,  an  at- 
tempt, in  fact,  to  destroy  Religion  ? 

Surely,  there  is  at  this  day  a  confederacy  of  evil, 
marshalling  its  hosts  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  organ- 
izing itself,  taking  its  measures,  enclosing  the  Church 
of  Christ  as  in  a  net,  and  preparing  the  way  for  a 
general  Apostasy  from  it.  Whether  this  very  Apostasy 
is  to  give  birth  to  Antichrist,  or  whether  he  is  still  to  be 
delayed,  as  he  has  already  been  delayed  so  long,  we 
cannot  know  ;  but  at  any  rate  this  Apostasy,  and  all 
its  tokens  and  instruments,  are  of  the  Evil  One,  and 
savour  of  death.  Far  be  it  from  any  of  us  to  be  of 
those  simple  ones  who  are  taken  in  that  snare  which  is 


THE  IRRELIGION  OF  THE  AGE.  85 

ending  around  us  !  Far  be  it  from  us  to  be  seduced 
with  the  fair  promises  in  which  Satan  is  sure  to  hide 
his  poison  !  Do  you  think  he  is  so  unskilful  in  his 
craft,  as  to  ask  you  openly  and  plainly  to  join  him  in 
his  warfare  against  the  Truth  ?  No ;  he  offers  you 
baits  to  tempt  you.  He  promises  you  civil  liberty ;  he 
promises  you  equality ;  he  promises  you  trade  and 
wealth ;  he  promises  you  a  remission  of  taxes ;  he 
promises  you  reform.  This  is  the  way  in  which  he 
conceals  from  you  the  kind  of  work  to  which  he  is 
putting  you  ;  he  tempts  you  to  rail  against  your  rulers 
and  superiors  ;  he  does  so  himself,  and  induces  you 
to  imitate  him  ;  or  he  promises  you  illumination, 
— he  offers  you  knowledge,  science,  philosophy,  en- 
largement of  mind.  He  scoffs  at  times  gone  by  ;  he 
scoffs  at  every  institution  which  reveres  them.  He 
prompts  you  what  to  say,  and  then  listens  to  you,  and 
praises  you,  and  encourages  you.  He  bids  you  mount 
aloft.  He  shows  you  how  to  become  as  gods.  Then 
he  laughs  and  jokes  with  you,  and  gets  intimate  with 
you  ;  he  takes  your  hand,  and  gets  his  fingers  between 
yours,  and  grasps  them,  and  then  you  are  his. — Dis- 
cussions and  Arguments,  ed.  1888,  pp.  59-61  (1838). 


»y       s\J*r       ^ ,     s*>       t><      i 

<kv«' 
V^-1^' 


QL^  V      Is 

v*'    -"~*w^-//7>t-'> 

IRnowle&gc  and  Character. 

A  DISTINGUISHED  Conservative  statesman  tells  us 
from  the  town-hall  of  Tamworth  that  "  in  becoming 
wiser  a  man  will  become  better  ;  "  meaning  by  wiser 
more  conversant  with  the  facts  and  theories  of  physical 
science  ;  and  that  such  a  man  will  "  rise  at  once  in  the 
scale  of  intellectual  and  moral  existence.  "  "  That,  " 
he  adds,  "  is  my  belief.  "  He  avows,  also,  that  the 
fortunate  individual  whom  he  is  describing,  by  being 
"  accustomed  to  such  contemplations,  will  feel  the 
moral  dignity  of  his  nature  exalted.  "  He  speaks  also 
of  physical  knowledge  as  "  being  the  means  of  useful 
occupation  and  rational  recreation ; "  of  "  the 
pleasures  of  knowledge  "  superseding  "  the  indulgence 
of  sensual  appetite, "  and  of  its  "  contributing  to  the 
intellectual  and  moral  improvement  of  the  community." 
Accordingly,  he  very  consistently  wishes  it  to  be  set 
before  "  the  female  as  well  as  the  male  portion  of  the 
population  ; "  otherwise,  as  he  truly  observes,  "  great 
injustice  would  be  done  to  the  well-educated  and  vir- 
tuous "  women  of  the  place.  They  are  to  "  have  equal 
power  and  equal  influence  with  others.  "  It  will  be 
difficult  to  exhaust  the  reflections  which  rise  in  the 
mind  on  reading  avowals  of  this  nature. 

The  first  question  which  obviously  suggests  itself  is 
how  these  wonderful  moral  effects  are  to  be  wrought 
under  the  instrumentality  of  the  physical  sciences. 
86 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  CHARACTER.  87 

Can  the  process  be  analyzed  and  drawn  out,  or  does  it 
act  like  a  dose  or  a  charm  which  comes  into  general 
use  empirically  ?  Does  Sir  Robert  Peel  mean  to  say, 
that  whatever  be  the  occult  reasons  for  the  result,  so 
it  is ;  you  have  but  to  drench  the  popular  mind  with 
physics,  and  moral  and  religious  advancement  follows 
on  the  whole,  in  spite  of  individual  failures?  Yet 
where  has  the  experiment  been  tried  on  so  large  a 
scale  as  to  justify  such  anticipations?  Or  rather,  does 
he  mean,  that,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  he  who  is 
imbued  with  science  and  literature,  unless  adverse 
influences  interfere,  cannot  but  be  a  better  man  ?  It  is 
natural  and  becoming  to  seek  for  some  clear  idea  of 
the  meaning  of  so  dark  an  oracle.  To  know  is  one 
thing,  to  do  is  another ;  the  two  things  are  altogether 
distinct.  A  man  knows  he  should  get  up  in  the  morn- 
ing,— he  lies  a-bed  ;  he  knows  he  should  not  lose  his 
temper,  yet  he  cannot  keep  it.  A  labouring  man  knows 
he  should  not  go  to  the  ale-house,  and  his  wife  knows 
she  should  not  filch  when  she  goes  out  charing,  but, 
nevertheless,  in  these  cases,  the  consciousness  of  a 
duty  is  not  all  one  with  the  performance  of  it.  There 
are  then,  large  families  of  instances,  to  say  the  least, 
in  which,  men  may  become  wiser,  without  becoming 
better  ;  what,  then,  is  the  meaning  of  this  great  maxim 
in  the  mouth  of  its  promulgators  ? 

Mr.  Bentham  would  answer,  that  the  knowledge 
which  carries  virtue  along  with  it,  is  the  knowledge 
how  to  take  care  of  number  one — a  clear  appreciation 
of  what  is  pleasurable,  what  painful,  and  what  pro- 
motes the  one  and  prevents  the  other.  An  uneducated 
man  is  ever  mistaking  his  own  interest,  and  standing 


88  KNOWLEDGE  AND  CHARACTER. 

in  the  way  of  his  own  true  enjoyments.  Useful 
Knowledge  is  that  which  tends  to  make  us  more  useful 
to  ourselves ; — a  most  definite  and  intelligible  account 
of  the  matter,  and  needing  no  explanation.  But  it 
would  be  a  great  injustice,  both  to  Lord  Brougham  and 
to  Sir  Robert,  to  suppose,  when  they  talk  of  Knowl- 
edge being  Virtue,  that  they  are  Benthamizing.  Ben- 
tham  had  not  a  spark  of  poetry  in  him  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, there  is  much  of  high  aspiration,  generous  senti- 
ment, and  impassioned  feeling  in  the  tone  of  Lord 
Brougham  and  Sir  Robert.  They  speak  of  knowledge 
as  something  "  pulchrum,  "  fair  and  glorious,  exalted 
above  the  range  of  ordinary  humanity,  and  so  little 
connected  with  the  personal  interest  of  its  votaries, 
that,  though  Sir  Robert  does  obiter  talk  of  improved 
modes  of  draining,  and  the  chemical  properties  of 
manure,  yet  he  must  not  be  supposed  to  come  short 
of  the  lofty  enthusiasm  of  Lord  Brougham,  who  ex- 
pressly panegyrizes  certain  ancient  philosophers  who 
gave  up  riches,  retired  into  solitude,  or  embraced 
a  life  of  travel,  smit  with  a  sacred  curiosity  about 
physical  or  mathematical  truth. 

Here  Mr.  Bentham,  did  it  fall  to  him  to  offer  a  criti- 
cism, doubtless  would  take  leave  to  inquire  whether 
such  language  was  anything  better  than  a  fine  set  of 
words  "  signifying  nothing, " — flowers  of  rhetoric, 
which  bloom,  smell  sweet,  and  die.  But  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  suspect  so  grave  and  practical  a  man  as  Sir 
Robert  Peel  of  using  words  literally  without  any  mean- 
ing at  all ;  and  though  I  think  at  best  they  have  not 
a  very  profound  meaning,  yet,  such  as  it  is,  we  ought 
to  attempt  to  draw  it  out 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  CHARACTER.  89 

Now,  without  using  exact  theological  language,  we 
may  surely  take  it  for  granted,  from  the  experience  of 
facts,  that  the  human  mind  is  at  best  in  a  very  un- 
formed or  disordered  state  ;  passions  and  conscience, 
likings  and  reason,  conflicting, — might  rising  against 
right,  with  the  prospect  of  things  getting  worse.  Under 
these  circumstances,  what  is  it  that  the  School  of 
philosophy  in  which  Sir  Robert  has  enrolled  himself 
proposes  to  accomplish  ?  Not  a  victory  of  the  mind 
over  itself — not  the  supremacy  of  the  law — not  the  re- 
duction of  the  rebels — not  the  unity  of  our  complex 
nature — not  an  harmonizing  of  the  chaos — but  the 
mere  lulling  of  the  passions  to  rest  by  turning  the 
course  of  thought ;  not  a  change  of  character,  but  a 
mere  removal  of  temptation.  This  should  be  carefully 
observed.  When  a  husband  is  gloomy,  or  an  old 
woman  peevish  and  fretful,  those  who  are  about  them 
do  all  they  can  to  keep  dangerous  topics  and  causes 
of  offence  out  of  the  way,  and  think  themselves  lucky, 
if,  by  such  skilful  management,  they  get  through  the 
day  without  an  outbreak.  When  a  child  cries,  the 
nurserymaid  dances  it  about,  or  points  to  the  pretty 
black  horses  out  of  window,  or  shows  how  ashamed 
poll-parrot  or  poor  puss  must  be  of  its  tantarums. 
Such  is  the  sort  of  prescription  which  Sir  Robert  Peel 
offers  to  the  good  people  of  Tamworth.  He  makes  no 
pretence  of  subduing  the  giant  nature,  in  which  we 
were  born,  of  smiting  the  lions  of  the  domestic  enemies 
of  our  piece,  of  overthrowing  passion  and  fortifying 
reason ;  he  does  but  offer  to  bribe  the  foe  for  the  nonce 
with  gifts  which  will  avail  for  that  purpose  just  so  long 
as  they  will  avail,  and  no  longer. 


90  KNOWLEDGE  AND  CHARACTER. 

<^t/J' 
This  was  mainly  the  philosophy  of  the  great  ^Tully, 

except  when  it  pleased  him  to  speak  as  a  disciple  of 
the  Porch.  Cicero  handed  the  recipe  to  Brougham,  and 
Brougham  has  passed  it  on  to  Peel.  If  we  examine 
the  old  Roman's  meaning  in  " O philosophia,  vitce  dux" 
it  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  this ; — that,  while  we 
were  thinking  of  philosophy,  we  were  not  thinking  of 
anything  else ;  we  did  not  feel  grief,  or  anxiety, 
or  passion,  or  ambition,  or  hatred  all  that  time, 
and  the  only  point  was  to  keep  thinking  of  it. 
How  to  keep  thinking  of  it  was  extra  artem.  If  a  man 
was  in  grief,  he  was  to  be  amused ;  if  disappointed,  to 
be  excited  ;  if  in  a  rage,  to  be  soothed  ;  if  in  love,  to  be 
roused  to  the  pursuit  of  glory.  No  inward  change  was 
contemplated,  but  a  change  of  external  objects  \  as  if 
we  were  all  White  Ladies  or  Undines,  our  moral  life 
being  one  of  impulse  and  emotion,  not  subjected  to 
laws,  not  consisting  in  habits,  not  capable  of  growth. 
When  Cicero  was  outwitted  by  Ca2sar,  he  solaced  him- 
self with  Plato  ;  when  he  lost  his  daughter,  he  wrote  a 
treatise  on  consolation.  Such,  too,  was  the  philosophy 
of  that  Lydian  city,  mentioned  by  the~historian,  who 
in  a  famine  played  at  dice  to  stay  their  stomachs. 

And  such  is  the  rule  of  life  advocated  by  Lord 
Brougham ;  and  though,  of  course,  he  protests  that 
knowledge  "  must  invigorate  the  mind  as  well  as  enter- 
tain it,  and  refine  and  elevate  the  character,  while  it 
gives  listlessness  and  weariness  their  most  agreeable 
excitement  and  relaxation,"  yet  his  notions  of  vigour 
and  elevation,  when  analyzed,  will  be  found  to  resolve 
themselves  into  a  mere  preternatural  excitement  under 
the  influence  of  some  stimulating  object,  or  the  peace 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  CHARACTER.      91 

which  is  attained  by  there  being  nothing .  to  quarrel 

with. 

*  *  * 

In  morals,  as  in  physics,  the  stream  cannot  rise 
higher  than  its  source.  Christianity  raises  men  from 
earth,  for  it  conies  from  heaven ;  but  human  morality 
creeps,  struts,  or  frets  upon  the  earth's  level,  without 
wings  to  rise.  The  Knowledge  School  does  not  con- 
template raising  man  above  himself ;  it  merely  aims  at 
disposing  of  his  existing  powers  and  tastes,  as  is  most 
convenient,  or  is  practicable  under  circumstances.  It 
finds  him,  like  the  victims  of  the  French  Tyrant, 
doubled  up  in  a  cage  in  which  he  can  neither  lie,  stand, 
sit,  nor  kneel,  and  its  highest  desire  is  to  find  an  atti- 
tude in  which  his  unrest  may  be  least.  Or  it  finds  him 
like  some  musical  instrument,  of  great  power  and  com- 
pass, but  imperfect ;  from  its  very  structure  some  keys 
must  ever  be  out  of  tune,  and  its  object,  when  ambi- 
tion is  highest,  is  to  throw  the  fault  of  its  nature 
where  least  it  will  be  observed.  It  leaves  man  where 
it  found  him — man,  and  not  an  Angel — a  sinner,  not  a 
Saint;  but  it  tries  to  make  him  look  as  much  like 
what  he  is  not  as  ever  it  can.  The  poor  indulge  in  low 
pleasures;  they  use  bad  language,  swear  loudly  and 
recklessly,  laugh  at  coarse  jests,  and  are  rude  and 
boorish.  Sir  Robert  would  open  on  them  a  wider 
range  of  thought  and  more  intellectual  objects,  by 
teaching  them  science ;  but  what  warrant  will  he  give 
us  that,  if  his  object  could  be  achieved,  what  they 
would  gain  in  decency  they  would  not  lose  in  natural 
humility  and  faith  ?  If  so,  he  has  exchanged  a  gross 
fault  for  a  more  subtle  one.  "  Temperance  topics " 


92  KNOWLEDGE  AND  CHARACTER. 

stop  drinking ;  let  us  suppose  it ;  but  will  much  be 
gained,  if  those  who  give  up  spirits  take  to  opium? 
Naturam  expellas  furca,  tamen  usque  recurret,  is  at  least 
a  heathen  truth,  and  universities  and  libraries  which 
recur  to  heathenism  many  reclaim  it  from  the  heathen 
for  their  motto. 

Nay,  everywhere,  so  far  as  human  nature  remains 
hardly  or  partially  Christianized,  the  heathen  law 
remains  in  force  ;  as  is  felt  in  a  measure  even  in  the 
most  religious  places  and  societies.  Even  there, 
where  Christianity  has  power,  the  venom  of  the  old 
Adam  is  not  subdued.  Those  who  have  to  do  with  our 
Colleges  give  us  their  experience,  that  in  the  case  of 
the  young  committed  to  their  care,  external  discipline 
may  change  the  fashionable  excess,  but  cannot  allay  the 
principle  of  sinning.  Stop  cigars,  they  will  take  to 
drinking  parties  ;  stop  drinking,  they  gamble  ;  stop 
gambling,  and  a  worse  license  follows.  You  do  not 
get  rid  of  vice  by  human  expedients  ;  you  can  but  use 
them  according  to  circumstances,  and  in  their  place,  as 
making  the  best  of  a  bad  matter.  You  must  go  to  a 
higher  source  for  renovation  of  the  heart  and  of  the 
will.  You  do  but  play  a  sort  of  "  hunt  the  slipper  " 
with  the  fault  of  our  nature,  till  you  go  to  Christianity. 

I  say,  you  must  use  human  methods  in  their  place, 
and  there  they  are  useful ;  but  they  are  worse  than 
useless  out  of  their  place.  I  have  no  fanatical  wish  to 
deny  to  any  whatever  subject  of  thought  or  method  of 
reason  a  place  altogether,  if  it  chooses  to  claim  it,  in 
the  cultivation  of  the  mind.  Mr.  Bentham  may  de- 
spise verse-making,  or  Mr.  Dugald  Stewart  logic,  but 
the  great  and  true  maxim  is  to  sacrifice  none — to  com- 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  CHARACTER.  93 

bine,  and  therefore  to  adjust,  all.  All  cannot  be  first, 
and  therefore  each  has  its  place,  and  the  problem  is  to 
find  it.  It  is  at  least  not  a  lighter  mistake  to  maka 
what  is  secondary  first,  than  to  leave  it  out  altogether. 
Here  then  it  is  that  the  Knowledge  Society,  Gower 
Street  College,  Tamworth  Reading-room,  Lord  Broug- 
ham and  Sir  Robert  Peel,  are  all  so  deplorably  mis- 
taken. Christianity,  and  nothing  short  of  it,  must  be 
made  the  element  and  principle  of  all  education. 
Where  it  has  been  laid  as  the  first  stone,  and  acknowl- 
edged as  the  governing  spirit,  it  will  take  up  into 
itself,  assimilate,  and  give  a  character  to  literature  and 
science.  Where  Revealed  Truth  has  given  the  aim 
and  direction  to  Knowledge,  Knowledge  of  all  kinds 
will  minister  to  Revealed  Truth.  The  evidences  of 
Religion,  natural  theology,  metaphysics, — or,  again, 
poetry,  history,  and  the  classics, — or  physics  and 
mathematics,  may  all  be  grafted  into  the  mind  of  a 
Christian,  and  give  and  take  by  the  grafting.  But  if 
in  education  we  begin  with  nature  before  grace,  with 
evidences  before  faith,  with  science  before  conscience, 
with  poetry  before  practice,  we  shall  be  doing  much 
the  same  as  if  we  were  to  indulge  the  appetites  and 
passions,  and  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  reason.  In  each 
case  we  misplace  what  in  its  place  is  a  divine  gift.  If 
we  attempt  to  effect  a  moral  improvement  by  means  of 
poetry,  we  shall  but  mature  into  a  mawkish,  frivolous, 
and  fastidious  sentimentalism ; — if  by  means  of  argu- 
ment, into  a  dry,  unamiable  longheadedness  ; — if  by 
good  society,  into  a  polished  outside,  with  hollowness 
within,  in  which  vice  has  lost  its  grossness,  and 
perhaps  increased  its  malignity  ; — if  by  experimental 


94 


KNOWLEDGE  AND  CHARACTER. 


science,  into  an  uppish,  supercilious  temper  much 
inclined  to  scepticism.  But  reverse  the  order  of 
things  :  put  Faith  first  and  Knowledge  second  ;  let  the 
University  minister  to  the  Church,  and  then  classical 
poetry  becomes  the  type  of  Gospel  truth,  and  physical 
science  a  comment  on  Genesis  or  Job,  and  Aristotle 
changes  into  Butler,  and  Arcesilas  into  Berkeley.* — 
Discussions  and  Arguments,  ed.  1888,  pp.  261-275 
(1841). 

*  [On  the  supremacy  of  each  science  in  its  own  field,  of  thought 
and  the  encroachments  upon  it  of  other  sciences,  vide  the  author's 
"  University  Teaching,"  Disc.  3,  and  "  University  Subjects,"  No. 
7  and  10.] 


ffaitb,  not  fmowle&ge,  governs  Xife. 

PEOPLE  say  to  me,  that  it  is  but  a  dream  to  suppose 
that  Christianity  should  regain  the  organic  power  in 
human  society  which  once  it  possessed.  I  cannot 
help  that ;  I  never  said  it  could.  I  am  not  a  politician  ; 
I  am  proposing  no  measures,  but  exposing  a  fallacy, 
and  resisting  a  pretence.  Let  Benthamism  reign,  if 
men  have  no  aspirations ;  but  do  not  tell  them  to  be 
romantic,  and  then  solace  them  with  glory ;  do  not 
attempt  by  philosophy  what  once  was  done  by  re- 
ligion. The  ascendancy  of  Faith  may  be  impracticable, 
but  the  reign  of  Knowledge  is  incomprehensible.  The 
problem  for  statesmen  of  this  age  is  how  to  educate 
the  masses,  and  literature  and  science  cannot  give  the 
solution. 

Not  so  deems  Sir  Robert  Peel ;  his  firm  belief  and 
hope  is,  "  that  an  increased  sagacity  will  administer  to 
an  exalted  faith ;  that  it  will  make  men  not  merely 
believe  in  the  cold  doctrines  of  Natural  Religion,  but 
that  it  will  so  prepare  and  temper  the  spirit  and  under- 
standing, that  they  will  be  better  qualified  to  compre- 
hend the  great  scheme  of  human  redemption."  He 
certainly  thinks  that  scientific  pursuits  have  some 
considerable  power  of  impressing  religion  upon  the 
mind  of  the  multitude.  I  think  not,  and  will  now  say 
why. 

95 


g6  BELIEF  AND  ACTION. 

Science  gives  us  the  grounds  or  premises  from 
which  religious  truths  are  to  be  inferred ;  but  it  does 
not  set  about  inferring  them,  much  less  does  it  reach 
the  inference  ; — that  is  not  its  province.  It  brings  be- 
fore us  phenomena,  and  it  leaves  us,  if  we  will,  to  call 
them  works  of  design,  wisdom,  or  benevolence ;  and 
further  still,  if  we  will,  to  proceed  to  confess  an  Intelli- 
gent Creator.  We  have  to  take  its  facts,  and  to  give 
them  a  meaning,  and  to  draw  our  own  conclusions  from 
them.  First  conies  Knowledge,  then  a  view,  then  rea- 
soning, and  then  belief.  This  is  why  Science  has  so 
little  of  a  religious  tendency ;  deductions  have  no 
power  of  persuasion.  The  heart  is  commonly  reached, 
not  through  the  reason,  but  through  the  imagination, 
by  means  of  direct  impressions,  by  the  testimony  of 
facts  and  events,  by  history,  by  description.  Persons 
influence  us,  voices  melt  us,  looks  subdue  us,  deeds 
inflame  us.  Many  a  man  will  live  and  die  upon  a 
dogma :  no  man  will  be  a  martyr  for  a  conclusion.  A 
conclusion  is  but  an  opinion ;  it  is  not  a  thing  which 
is,  but  which  we  are  "  certain  about  ;  "  and  it  has  often 
been  observed,  that  we  never  say  we  are  certain  with- 
out implying  that  we  doubt.  To  say  that  a  thing  must 
be,  is  to  admit  that  it  may  not  be.  No  one,  I  say,  will 
die  for  his  otfn  calculations ;  he  dies  for  realities. 
This  is  why  a  literary  religion  is  so  little  to  be  de- 
pended upon  ;  it  looks  well  in  fair  weather,  but  its 
doctrines  are  opinions,  and,  when  called  to  suffer  for 
them,  it  slips  them  between  its  folios,  or  burns  them  at 
its  hearth.  And  this  again  is  the  secret  of  the  distrust 
and  raillery  with  which  moralists  have  been  so  com- 
monly visited.  They  say  and  do  not.  Why  ?  Because 


BELIEF  AND  ACTION.  97 

they  are  contemplating  the  fitness  of  things,  and  they 
live  by  the  square,  when  they  should  be  realizing  their 
high  maxims  in  the  concrete.  Now  Sir  Robert  thinks 
better  of  natural  history,  chemistry,  and  astronomy, 
than  of  such  ethics  ;  but  they  too,  what  are  they  more 
than  divinity  in  posse?  He  protests  against  "con- 
troversial divinity  :  "  is  inferential  much  better  ? 

I  have  no  confidence,  then,  in  philosophers  who 
cannot  help  being  religious,  and  are  Christians  by  im- 
plication. They  sit  at  home,  and  reach  forward  to 
distances  which  astonish  us ;  but  they  hit  without 
grasping,  and  are  sometimes  as  confident  about 
shadows  as  about  realities.  They  have  worked  out  by 
a  calculation  the  lie  of  a  country  which  they  never  saw, 
and  mapped  it  by  means  of  a  gazetteer  ;  and  like  blind 
men,  though  they  can  put  a  stranger  on  his  way,  they 
cannot  walk  straight  themselves,  and  do  not  feel  it 
quite  their  business  to  walk  at  all. 

Logic  makes  but  a  sorry  rhetoric  with  the  multitude  ; 
first  shoot  round  corners,  and  you  may  not  despair  of 
converting  by  a  syllogism.  Tell  men  to  gain  notions 
of  a  Creator  from  His  works,  and,  if  they  were  to  set 
about  it  (which  nobody  does),  they  would  be  jaded  and 
wearied  by  the  labyrinth  they  were  tracing.  Their 
minds  would  be  gorged  and  surfeited  by  the  logical 
operation.  Logicians  are  more  set  upon  concluding 
rightly,  than  on  right  conclusions.  They  cannot  see 
the  end  for  the  process.  Few  men  have  that  power  of 
mind  which  may  hold  fast  and  firmly  a  variety  of 
thoughts.  We  ridicule  "  men  of  one  idea ;  "  but  a 
great  many  of  us  are  born  to  be  such,  and  we  should  be 
happier  if  we  knew  it.  To  most  men  argument  makes 
7 


98  BELIEF  AND  ACTION1. 

the  point  in  hand  only  more  doubtful,  and  considerably 
less  impressive.  After  all,  man  is  not  a  reasoning 
animal ;  he  is  a  seeing,  feeling,  contemplating,  acting 
animal.  He  is  influenced  by  what  is  direct  and  precise. 
It  is  very  well  to  freshen  our  impressions  and  convic- 
tions from  physics,  but  to  create  them  we  must  go 
elsewhere.  Sir  Robert  Peel  "  never  can  think  it  possi- 
ble that  a  mind  can  be  so  constituted,  that,  after  being 
familiarized  with  the  wonderful  discoveries  which  have 
been  made  in  every  part  of  experimental  science,  it 
can  retire  from  such  contemplations  without  more  en- 
larged conceptions  of  God's  providence,  and  a  higher 
reverence  for  His  name."  If  he  speaks  of  religious 
minds,  he  perpetrates  a  truism  ;  if  of  irreligious,  he  in- 
sinuates a  paradox. 

Life  is  not  long  enough  for  a  religion  of  inferences  ; 
we  shall  never  have  done  beginning,  if  we  determine 
to  begin  with  proof.  We  shall  ever  be  laying  our 
foundations ;  we  shall  turn  theology  into  evidences, 
and  divines  into  textuaries.  We  shall  never  get  at  our 
first  principles.  Resolve  to  believe  nothing,  and  you 
must  prove  your  proofs  and  analyze  your  elements, 
sinking  further  and  further,  and  finding  "  in  the  lowest 
depth  a  lower  deep,"  till  you  come  to  the  broad  bosom 
of  scepticism.  I  would  rather  be  bound  to  defend  the 
reasonableness  of  assuming  that  Christianity  is  true, 
than  to  demonstrate  a  moral  governance  from  the  phys- 
ical world.  Life  is  for  action.  If  we  insist  on  proofs 
for  everything,  we  shall  never  come  to  action  :  to  act 
you  must  assume,  and  that  assumption  is  faith. 

Let  no  one  suppose  that  in  saying  this  I  am  main- 
taining that  all  proofs  are  equally  difficult,  and  all 


BELIEF  AND  ACTION.  99 

propositions  equally  debatable.  Some  assumptions 
are  greater  than  others,  and  some  doctrines  involve 
postulates  larger  than  others,  and  more  numerous.  I 
only  say  that  impressions  lead  to  action,  and  that 
reasonings  lead  from  it.  Knowledge  of  premises,  and 
inferences  upon  them, — this  is  not  to  live.  It  is  very 
well  as  a  matter  of  liberal  curiosity  and  of  philosophy 
to  analyze  our  modes  of  thought ;  but  let  this  come 
second,  and  when  there  is  leisure  for  it,  and  then  our 
examinations  will  in  many  ways  even  be  subservient 
to  action.  But  if  we  commence  with  scientific  knowl- 
edge and  argumentative  proof,  or  lay  any  great  stress 
upon  it  as  the  basis  of  personal  Christianity,  or  at- 
tempt to  make  man  moral  and  religious  by  Libraries 
and  Museums,  let  us  in  consistency  take  chemists  for 
our  cooks,  and  mineralogists  for  our  masons. 

Now  I  wish  to  state  all  this  as  matter  of  fact,  to  be 
judged  by  the  candid  testimony  of  any  persons  what- 
ever. Why  we  are  so  constituted  that  Faith,  not 
Knowledge  or  Argument,  is  our  principle  of  action,  is 
a  question  with  which  I  have  nothing  to  do  ;  but  I 
think  it  is  a  fact,  and  if  it  be  such,  we  must  resign 
ourselves  to  it  as  best  we  may,  unless  we  take  refuge 
in  the  intolerable  paradox,  that  the  mass  of  men  are 
created  for  nothing,  and  are  meant  to  leave  life  as 
they  entered  it.  So  well  has  this  practically  been  un- 
derstood in  all  ages  of  the  world,  that  no  Religion  has 
yet  been  a  Religion  of  physics  or  of  philosophy.  It 
has  ever  been  synonymous  with  Revelation.  It  never 
has  been  a  deduction  from  what  we  know  :  it  has  ever 
been  an  assertion  of  what  we  are  to  believe.  It  has 
never  lived  in  a  conclusion  ;  it  has  ever  been  a  mes- 


100  BELIEF  AND  ACTION. 

sage,  or  a  history,  or  a  vision.  No  legislator  or  priest 
ever  dreamed  of  educating  our  moral  nature  by  science 
or  by  argument.  There  is  no  difference  here  between 
true  Religions  and  pretended.  Moses  was  instructed, 
not  to  reason  from  the  creation,  but  to  work  miracles. 
Christianity  is  a  history,  supernatural,  and  almost 
scenic  :  it  tells  us  what  its  Author  is,  by  telling  us 
what  He  has  done.  I  have  no  wish  at  all  to  speak 
otherwise  than  respectfully  of  conscientious  Dissen- 
ters, but  I  have  heard  it  said  by  those  who  were  not 
their  enemies,  and  who  had  known  much  of  their 
preaching,  that  they  had  often  heard  narrow-minded 
and  bigoted  clergymen,  and  often  Dissenting  ministers 
of  a  far  more  intellectual  cast ;  but  that  Dissenting 
teaching  came  to  nothing, — that  it  was  dissipated  in 
thoughts  which  had  no  point,  and  inquiries  which  con- 
verged to  no  centre,  that  it  ended  as  it  began,  and 
sent  away  its  hearers  as  it  found  them ; — whereas  the 
instruction  in  the  Church,  with  all  its  defects  and  mis- 
takes, comes  to  some  end,  for  it  started  from  some 
beginning.  Such  is  the  difference  between  the  dog- 
matism of  faith  and  the  speculations  of  logic. 

Lord  Brougham  himself,  as  we  have  already  seen, 
has  recognized  the  force  of  this  principle.     He  has  not 
left  his    philosophical    religion   to   argument ;  he  has 
committed  it  to  the  keeping  of  the  imagination.     Why 
should  he  depict  a  great  republic  of  letters,  and  an  in- 
>  tellectual  Pantheon,  but  that  he  feels  that  instances 
]  and   patterns,    not   logical   reasonings,   are  the  living 
|  conclusions  which  alone  have  a  hold  over  the  affec- 
5    v^ltions,  or   can  form   the   character? — Discussions  and 
\  Arguments,  ed.  1888,  pp.  292-297  (1841). 


Science  an&  IReligion. 

WHEN  Sir  Robert  Peel  assures  us  from  the  Town-hall 
at  Tamworth  that  physical  science  must  lead  to  relig- 
ion, it  is  no  bad  compliment  to  him  to  say  that  he  is 
unreal.  He  speaks  of  what  he  knows  nothing  about. 
To  a  religious  man  like  him,  Science  has  ever  sug- 
gested religious  thoughts  ;  he  colours  the  phenomena 
of  physics  with  the  hues  of  his  own  mind,  and  mis- 
takes an  interpretation  for  a  deduction.  "  I  am  san- 
guine enough  to  believe,"  he  says,  "  that  that  superior 
sagacity  which  is  most  conversant  with  the  course  and 
constitution  of  Nature  will  be  first  to  turn  a  deaf  ear 
to  objections  and  presumptions  against  Revealed  Re- 
ligion, and  to  acknowledge  the  complete  harmony  of 
the  Christian  Dispensation  with  all  that  Reason,  as- 
sisted by  Revelation,  tells  us  of  the  course  and  con- 
stitution of  Nature."  Now,  considering  that  we  are 
all  of  us  educated  as  Christians  from  infancy,  it  is  not 
easy  to  decide  at  this  day  whether  Science  creates 
Faith,  or  only  confirms  it ;  but  we  have  this  remark- 
able fact  in  the  history  of  heathen  Greece  against  the 
former  supposition,  that  her  most  eminent  empirical 
philosophers  were  atheists,  and  that  it  was  their 
atheism  which  was  the  cause  of  their  eminence.  "  The 
natural  philosophies  of  Democritus  and  others,"  says 
Lord  Bacon,  "  who  allow  no  God  or  mind  in  the  frame 

101 


102  SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION. 

of  things,  but  attribute  the  structure  of  the  universe  to 
infinite  essays  and  trials  of  nature,  or  what  they  call 
fate  or  fortune,  and  assigned  the  causes  of  particular 
things  to  the  necessity  of  matter,  without  any  inter- 
mixture of  final  causes,  seem,  as  far  as  we  can  judge 
from  the  remains  of  their  philosophy,  much  more  solid, 
and  to  have  go?te  deeper  into  nature,  with  regard  to 
physical  causes,  than  the  philosophies  of  Aristotle  or 
Plato  :  and  this  only  because  they  never  meddled  with 
final  causes,  which  the  others  were  perpetually  incul- 
cating." 

Lord  Bacon  gives  us  both  the  fact  and  the  reason 
for  it.  Physical  philosophers  are  ever  inquiring 
whence  things  are,  not  why  ;  referring  them  to  nature, 
not  to  mind  ;  and  thus  they  tend  to  make  a  system  a 
substitute  for  a  God.  Each  pursuit  or  calling  has  its 
own  dangers,  and  each  numbers  among  its  professors 
men  who  rise  superior  to  them.  As  the  soldier  is 
tempted  to  dissipation,  and  the  merchant  to  acquisi- 
tiveness, and  the  lawyer  to  the  sophistical,  and  the 
statesman  to  the  expedient,  and  the  country  clergyman 
to  ease  and  comfort,  yet  there  are  good  clergymen, 
statesmen,  lawyers,  merchants,  and  soldiers,  notwith- 
standing ;  so  there  are  religious  experimentalists, 
though  physics,  taken  by  themselves,  tend  to  infidelity ; 
but  to  have  recourse  to  physics  to  make  men  religious 
is  like  recommending  a  canonry  as  a  cure  for  the  gout, 
or  giving  a  youngster  a  commission  as  a  penance  for 
irregularities. 

The  whole  framework  of  Nature  is  confessedly  a 
tissue  of  antecedents  and  consequents  ;  we  may  refer 
all  things  forwards  to  design,  or  backwards  on  a  phys- 


SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION.  103 

ical  cause.  La  Place  is  said  to  have  considered  he 
had  a  formula  which  solved  all  the  motions  of  the  solar 
system  ;  shall  we  say  that  those  motions  came  from 
this  formula  or  from  a  Divine  Fiat?  Shall  we  have  re- 
course for  our  theory  to  physics  or  to  theology  ?  Shall 
we  assume  Matter  and  its  necessary  properties  to  be 
eternal,  or  Mind  with  its  divine  attributes  ?  Does  the 
sun  shine  to  warm  the  earth,  or  is  the  earth  warmed 
because  the  sun  shines  ?  The  one  hypothesis  will 
solve  the  phenomena  as  well  as  the  other.  Say  not  it 
is  but  a  puzzle  in  argument,  and  that  no  one  ever  felt 
it  in  fact.  So  far  from  it,  I  believe  that  the  study  of 
Nature,  when  religious  feeling  is  away,  leads  the  mind, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  to  acquiesce  in  the  atheistic  theory, 
as  the  simplest  and  easiest.  It  is  but  parallel  to  that 
tendency  in  anatomical  studies,  which  no  one  will 
deny,  to  solve  all  the  phenomena  of  the  human  frame 
into  material  elements  and  powers,  and  to  dispense 
with  the  soul.  To  those  who  are  conscious  of 
matter,  but  not  conscious  of  mind,  it  seems  more 
rational  to  refer  all  things  to  one  origin,  such  as 
they  know,  than  to  assume  the  existence  of  a 
second  origin  such  as  they  know  not.  It  is  Religion, 
then  which  suggests  to  Science  its  true  conclusions  ; 
the  facts  come  from  Knowledge,  but  the  principles 
come  of  Faith.* 

There  are  two  ways,  then,  of  reading  Nature — as  a 

*  [This  is  too  absolute,  if  it  is  to  be  taken  to  mean  that  the 
legitimate,  and  what  may  be  called  the  objective,  conclusion 
from  the  fact  of  Nature  viewed  in  the  concrete  is  not  in  favour 
of  the  being  and  providence  of  God. —  Vide  "Essay  on  Assent," 
PP-  336>  345'  369-  and  "  Univ.  Serm."  p.  194.] 


104  SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION. 

machine  and  as  a  work.  If  we  come  to  it  with  the 
assumption  that  it  is  a  creation,  we  shall  study  it  with 
awe  ;  if  assuming  it  to  be  a  system,  with  mere  curi- 
osity. Sir  Robert  does  not  make  this  distinction. 
He  subscribes  to  the  belief  that  the  man  "  accustomed 
to  such  contemplations,  struck  with  awe  by  the  man- 
ifold proofs  of  infinite  power  and  infinite  wisdom,  will 
yield  more  ready  and  hearty  assent — yes,  the  assent  of 
the  heart,  and  not  only  of  the  understanding,  to  the 
pious  exclamation,  '  O  Lord,  how  glorious  are  Thy 
works ! ' '  He  considers  that  greater  insight  into 
Nature  will  lead  a  man  to  say,  "  How  great  and  wise 
is  the  Creator,  who  has  done  this  ! "  True  :  but  it  is 
possible  that  his  thoughts  may  take  the  form  of  "  How 
clever  is  the  creature  who  has  discovered  it ! "  and 
self-conceit  may  stand  proxy  for  adoration.  This  is 
no  idle  apprehension.  Sir  Robert  himself,  religious 
as  he  is,  gives  cause  for  it ;  for  the  first  reflection  that 
rises  in  his  mind,  as  expressed  in  the  above  passage, 
before  his  notice  of  Divine  Power  and  Wisdom,  is,  that 
"  the  man  accustomed  to  such  contemplations  will  feel 
the  moral  dignity  of  his  nature  exalted"  But  Lord 
Brougham  speaks  out.  "  The  delight,"  he  says,  "  is 
inexpressible  of  being  able  to  follow,  as  it  were,  with  our 
eyes,  the  marvellous  works  of  the  Great  Architect  of 
Nature."  And  more  clearly  still  :  "  One  of  the  most 
gratifying  treats  which  science  affords  us  is  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  extraordinary  powers  with  which  the  human 
mind  is  endowed.  No  man,  until  he  has  studied 
philosophy,  can  have  a  just  idea  of  the  great  things 
for  which  Providence  has  fitted  his  understanding,  the 
extraordinary  disproportion  which  there  is  between  his 


SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION.  105 

natural  strength  and  the  powers  of  his  mind,  and  the 
force  which  he  derives  from  these  powers.  When  we 
survey  the  marvellous  truths  of  astronomy,  we  are  first 
of  all  lost  in  the  feeling  of  immense  space,  and  of  the 
comparative  insignificance  of  this  globe  and  its  in- 
habitants. But  there  soon  arises  a  sense  of  gratifica- 
tion and  of  'new  wonder  at  perceiving  how  so  insignifi- 
cant a  creature  has  been  able  to  reach  such  a  knowledge 
of  the  unbounded  system  of  the  universe."  So,  this  is 
the  religion  we  are  to  gain  from  the  study  of  Nature  ; 
how  miserable  !  The  god  we  attain  is  our  own  mind  ; 
our  veneration  is  even  professedly  the  worship  of  self. 
The  truth  is  that  the  system  of  Nature  is  just  as 
much  connected  with  Religion,  where  minds  are  not 
religious,  as  a  watch  or  a  steam-carriage.  The  ma- 
terial world,  indeed,  is  infinitely  more  wonderful  than 
any  human  contrivance ;  but  wonder  is  not  religion,  or 
we  should  be  worshipping  our  railroads.  What  the 
physical  creation  presents  to  us  in  itself  is  a  piece  of 
machinery,  and  when  men  speak  of  a  Divine  Intelli- 
gence as  its  Author,  this  god  of  theirs  is  not  the  Liv- 
ing and  True,  unless  the  spring  is  the  god  of  a  watch, 
or  steam  the  creator  of  the  engine.  Their  idol,  taken 
at  advantage  (though  it  is  not  an  idol,  for  they  do  not 
worship  it),  is  the  animating  principle  of  a  vast  and 
complicated  system ;  it  is  subjected  to  laws,  and  it  is 
connatural  and  co-extensive  with  matter.  Well  does 
Lord  Brougham  call  it  "  the  great  architect  of  nature ; " 
it  is  an  instinct,  or  a  soul  of  the  world,  or  a  vital 
power ;  it  is  not  the  Almighty  God.* — Discussions  and 
Arguments,  ed.  1888,  pp.  298-302  (1841). 

* \_Vide  "  University  Teaching,"   Disc.  2.] 


Now  what  is  Theology  ?  First,  I  will  tell  you  what 
it  is  not.  And  here,  in  the  first  place  (though  of  course 
I  speak  on  the  subject  as  a  Catholic),  observe  that, 
strictly  speaking,  I  am  not  assuming  that  Catholicism 
is  true,  while  I  make  myself  the  champion  of  Theology. 
Catholicism  has  not  formally  entered  into  my  argument 
hitherto,  nor  shall  I  just  now  assume  any  principle 
peculiar  to  it,  for  reasons  which  will  appear  in  the 
sequel,  though  of  course  I  shall  use  Catholic  language. 
Neither,  secondly,  will  I  fall  into  the  fashion  of  the  day, 
of  identifying  Natural  Theology  with  Physical  The- 
ology ;  which  said  Physical  Theology  is  a  most  jejune 
study,  considered  as  a  science,  and  really  is  no  science 
at  all,  for  it  is  ordinarily  nothing  more  than  a  series  of 
pious  or  polemical  remarks  upon  the  physical  world 
viewed  religiously,  whereas  the  word  "  Natural  "  prop- 
erly comprehends  man  and  society,  and  all  that  is 
involved  therein,  as  the  great  Protestant  writer,  Dr. 
Butler,  shows  us.  Nor,  in  the  third  place,  do  I  mean 
by  Theology  polemics  of  any  kind  ;  for  instance,  what 
are  called  "  The  Evidences  of  Religion,"  or  "  the  Chris- 
tian Evidences ;  "  for,  though  these  constitute  a  science 
supplemental  to  Theology  and  are  necessary  in  their 
place,  they  are  not  Theology  itself,  unless  an  army  is 
synonymous  with  the  body  politic.  Nor,  fourthly,  do  I 
1 06 


THEOLOGY.  107 

mean  by  Theology  that  vague  thing  called  "  Chris- 
tianity," or  "  our  common  Christianity,"  or  "  Chris- 
tianity the  law  of  the  land,"  if  there  is  any  man  alive 
who  can  tell  what  it  is.  I  discard  it,  for  the  very  reason 
that  it  cannot  throw  itself  into  a  proposition.  Lastly, 
I  do  not  understand  by  Theology,  acquaintance  with 
the  Scriptures ;  for,  though  no  person  of  religious  feel- 
ings can  read  Scripture  but  he  will  find  those  feelings 
roused,  and  gain  much  knowledge  of  history  into  the 
bargain,  yet  historical  reading  and  religious  feeling 
are  not  science.  I  mean  none  of  these  things  by  Theo- 
logy, I  simply  mean  the  Science  of  God,  or  the  truths 
we  know  about  God  put  into  system  ;  just  as  we  have  a 
science  of  the  stars,  and  call  it  astronomy,  or  of  the 
crust  of  the  earth,  and  call  it  geology. 

For  instance,  I  mean,  for  this  is  the  main  point,  that, 
as  in  the  human  frame  there  is  a  living  principle,  acting 
upon  it  and  through  it  by  means  of  volition,  so,  behind 
the  veil  of  the  visible  universe,  there  is  an  invisible, 
intelligent  Being,  acting  on  and  through  it,  as  and  when 
He  will.  Further,  I  mean  that  this  invisible  Agent  is 
in  no  sense  a  soul  of  the  world,  after  the  analogy  of 
human  nature,  but,  on  the  contrary,  is  absolutely  dis- 
tinct from  the  world,  as  being  its  Creator,  Upholder, 
Governor,  and  Sovereign  Lord.  Here  we  are  at  once 
brought  into  the  circle  of  doctrines  which  the  idea  of 
God  embodies.  I  mean  then  by  the  Supreme  Being, 
one  who  is  simply  self-dependent,  and  the  only  Being 
who  is  such  ;  moreover,  that  He  is  without  beginning 
or  Eternal,  and  the  only  Eternal ;  that  in  consequence 
He  has  lived  a  whole  eternity  by  Himself ;  and  hence 
that  he  is  all-sufficient,  sufficient  for  His  own  blessed- 


lo8  THEOLOGY. 

ness,  and  all-blessed,  and  ever-blessed.  Further,  I 
mean  a  Being,  who  having  these  prerogatives,  has  the 
Supreme  Good,  or  rather  is  the  Supreme  Good,  or  has 
all  the  attributes  of  Good  in  infinite  intenseness  ;  all 
wisdom,  all  truth,  all  justice,  all  love,  all  holiness,  all 
beautifulness ;  who  is  omnipotent,  omniscient,  omni- 
present ;  ineffably  one,  absolutely  perfect ;  and  such, 
that  what  we  do  not  know  and  cannot  even  imagine  of 
Him,  is  far  more  wonderful  than  what  we  do  and  can. 
I  mean  One  who  is  sovereign  over  His  own  will  and 
actions,  though  always  according  to  the  eternal  Rule  of 
right  and  wrong,  which  is  Himself.  I  mean,  moreover, 
that  He  created  all  things  out  of  nothing,  and  preserves 
them  every  moment,  and  could  destroy  them  as  easily  as 
He  made  them;  and  that,  in  consequence,  He  is 
separated  from  them  by  an  abyss,  and  is  incommuni- 
cable in  all  His  attributes.  And  further,  He  has 
stamped  upon  all  things,  in  the  hour  of  their  creation, 
their  respective  natures,  and  has  given  them  their  work 
and  mission  and  their  length  of  days,  greater  or  less, 
in  their  appointed  place.  I  mean,  too,  that  He  is  ever 
present  with  His  works,  one  by  one,  and  confronts 
everything  He  has  made  by  His  particular  and  most 
loving  Providence,  and  manifests  Himself  to  each 
according  to  its  needs  ;  and  has  on  rational  beings 
imprinted  the  moral  law,  and  given  them  power  to  obey 
it,  imposing  on  them  the  duty  of  worship  and  service, 
searching  and  scanning  them  through  and  through  with 
His  omniscient  eye,  and  putting  before  them  a  present 
trial  and  a  judgment  to  come. 

Such    is    what    Theology    teaches    about    God,    a 
doctrine,  as  the  very  idea  of  its  subject-matter  presup- 


THEOLOGY.  109 

poses,  so  mysterious  as  in  its  fulness  to  lie  beyond  any 
system,  and  in  particular  aspects  to  be  simply  external 
to  nature,  and  to  seem  in  parts  even  to  be  irreconcil- 
able with  itself,  the  imagination  being  unable  to  em- 
brace what  the  reason  determines.  It  teaches  of  a 
Being  infinite,  yet  personal;  all-blessed,  yet  ever 
operative ;  absolutely  separate  from  the  creature,  yet 
in  every  part  of  the  creation  at  every  moment  ;  above 
all  things,  yet  under  everything.  -It  teaches  of  a  Being 
who,  though  the  highest,  yet  in  the  work  of  creation, 
conservation,  government,  retribution,  makes  Himself, 
as  it  were,  the  minister  and  servant  of  all ;  who,  though 
inhabiting  eternity,  allows  Himself  to  take  an  interest, 
and  to  have  a  sympathy,  in  the  matters  of  space  and 
time.  His  are  all  beings,  visible  and  invisible,  the 
noblest  and  the  vilest  of  them.  His  are  the  substance, 
and  the  operation,  and  the  results  of  that  system  of 
physical  nature  into  which  we  are  born.  His  too  are 
the  powers  and  achievements  of  the  intellectual  es- 
sences, on  which  he  has  bestowed  an  independent 
action  and  the  gift  of  origination.  The  laws  of  the 
universe,  the  principles  of  truth,  the  relation  of  one 
thing  to  another,  their  qualities  and  virtues,  the  order 
and  harmony  of  the  whole,  all  that  exists,  is  from  Him  ; 
and,  if  evil  is  not  from  Him,  as  assuredly  it  is  not, 
this  is  because  evil  has  no  substance  of  its  own,  but 
is  only  the  defect,  excess,  perversion,  or  corruption  of 
that  which  has  substance.  All  we  see,  hear,  and 
touch,  the  remote  sidereal  firmament,  as  well  as  our 
own  sea  and  land,  and  the  elements  which  compose 
them  and  the  ordinances  they  obey,  are  His.  The 
primary  atoms  of  matter,  their  properties,  their  mutual 


HO  THEOLOGY. 

action,  their  disposition  and  collocation,  electricity, 
magnetism,  gravitation,  light,  and  whatever  other  sub- 
tle principles  or  operations  the  wit  of  man  is  detecting 
or  shall  detect,  are  the  work  of  His  hands.  From  Him 
has  been  every  movement  which  has  convulsed  and  re- 
fashioned the  surface  of  the  earth.  The  most  insignifi- 
cant or  unsightly  insect  is  from  Him,  and  good  in  its 
kind  ;  the  ever-teeming,  inexhaustible  swarms  of  ani- 
malculae,  the  myriads  of  living  motes  invisible  to  the 
naked  eye,  the  restless,  ever-spreading  vegetation 
which  creeps  like  a  garment  over  the  whole  earth,  the 
lofty  cedar,  the  umbrageous  banana,  are  His.  His  are 
the  tribes  and  families  of  birds  and  beasts,  their  grace- 
ful forms,  their  wild  gestures,  and  their  passionate 
cries. 

And  so  in  the  intellectual,  moral,  social,  and  politi- 
cal world.  Man,  with  his  motives  and  works,  his 
languages,  his  propagation,  his  diffusion,  is  from  Him. 
Agriculture,  medicine,  and  the  arts  of  life,  are  His 
gifts.  Society,  laws,  government,  He  is  their  sanction. 
The  pageant  of  earthly  royalty  has  the  semblance  and 
the  benediction  of  the  Eternal  King.  Peace  and  civil- 
ization, commerce  and  adventure,  wars  when  just,  con- 
quest when  humane  and  necessary,  have  His  co-opera- 
tion, and  His  blessing  upon  them.  The  course  of 
events,  the  revolution  of  empires,  the  rise  and  fall  of 
states,  the  periods  and  eras,  the  progresses  and  the 
retrogressions  of  the  world's  history,  not  indeed  the  in- 
cidental sin,  over-abundant  as  it  is,  but  the  great  out- 
lines and  the  results  of  human  affairs,  are  from  His 
disposition.  The  elements  and  types  and  seminal 
principles  and  constructive  powers  of  the  moral  world, 


THEOLOGY.  .Ill 

in  ruins  though  it  be,  are  to  be  referred  to  Him.  He 
"  enlighteneth  every  man  that  cometh  into  this  world.  " 
His  are  the  dictates  of  the  moral  sense,  and  the  retrib- 
utive reproaches  of  conscience.  To  Him  must  be  as- 
scribed  the  rich  endowments  of  the  intellect,  the 
irradiation  of  genius,  the  imagination  of  the  poet,  the 
sagacity  of  the  politician,  the  wisdom  (as  Scripture 
calls  it),  which  now  rears  and  decorates  the  Temple, 
now  manifests  itself  in  proverb  or  in  parable.  The 
old  saws  of*  nations,  the  majestic  precepts  of  philoso- 
phy, the  luminous  maxims  of  law,  the  oracles  of  indi- 
vidual wisdom,  the  traditionary  rules  of  truth,  justice, 
and  religion,  even  though  imbedded  in  the  corruption, 
or  alloyed  with  the  pride,  of  the  world,  betoken  His 
original  agency,  and  His  long-suffering  presence. 
Even  where  there  is  habitual  rebellion  against  Him,  or 
profound  far-spreading  social  depravity,  still  the  under- 
current, or  the  heroic  outburst,  of  natural  virtue,  as 
well  as  the  yearnings  of  the  heart  after  what  it  has  not, 
and  its  presentiment  of  its  true  remedies,  are  to  be  as- 
scribed  to  the  Author  of  all  good.  Anticipations  or 
reminiscences  of  His  glory  haunt  the  mind  of  the 
self-sufficient  sage,  and  of  the  pagan  devotee  ;  His 
writing  is  upon  the  wall,  whether  of  the  Indian  fane, 
or  of  the  porticoes  of  Greece.  He  introduces  Himself, 
He  all  but  concurs,  according  to  His  good  pleasure, 
and  in  His  selected  season,  in  the  issues  of  unbelief, 
superstition,  and  false  worship,  and  He  changes  the 
character  of  acts  by  His  overruling  operation.  He 
condescends,  though  he  gives  no  sanction,  to  the  altars 
and  shrines  of  imposture,  and  He  makes  His  own  fiat 
the  substitute  for  its  sorceries.  He  speaks  amid  the 


112  THEOLOGY. 

incantations  of  Balaam,  raises  Samuel's  spirit  in  the 
witch's  cavern,  prophesies  of  the  Messias  by  the 
tongue  of  the  Sibyl,  forces  Python  to  recognize  His 
ministers,  and  baptizes  by  the  hand  of  the  misbe- 
liever. He  is  with  the  heathen  dramatist  in  his  denun- 
ciations of  injustice  and  tyranny,  and  his  auguries  of 
divine  vengeance  upon  crime.  Even  on  the  unseemly 
legends  of  a  popular  mythology  He  casts  His  shadow, 
•and  is  dimly  discerned  in  the  ode  or  the  epic,  as  in 
troubled  water  or  in  fantastic  dreams.  All  that  is 
good,  all  that  is  true,  all  that  is  beautiful,  all  that  is  be- 
nificent,  be  it  great  or  small,  be  it  perfect  or  fragment- 
ary, natural  as  well  as  supernatural,  moral  as  well  as 
material,  comes  from  Him. 

If  this  be  a  sketch,  accurate  in  substance  and  as  far 
as  it  goes,  of  the  doctrines  proper  to  Theology,  and 
especially  of  the  doctrine  of  a  particular  Providence, 
which  is  the  portion  of  it  most  on  a  level  with  human 
sciences,  I  cannot  understand  at  all  how,  supposing  it 
to  be  true,  it  can  fail,  considered  as  knowledge,  to 
exert  a  powerful  influence  on  philosophy,  literature, 
and  every  intellectual  creation  or  discovery  whatever. 
I  cannot  understand  how  it  is  possible,  as  the  phrase 
goes,  to  blink  the  question  of  its  truth  or  falsehood. 
It  meets  us  with  a  profession  and  a  proffer  of  the 
highest  truths  of  which  the  human  mind  is  capable ;  it 
embraces  a  range  of  subjects  the  most  diversified  and 
distant  from  each  other.  What  science  will  not  find 
one  part  or  other  of  its  province  traversed  by  its  path  ? 
What  results  of  philosophic  speculation  are  unques- 
tionable, if  they  have  been  gained  without  inquiry  as 


THEOLOGY.  113 

to  what  Theology  had  to  say  to  them  ?  Does  it  cast  no 
light  upon  history  ?  has  it  no  influence  upon  the  prin- 
ciples of  ethics  ?  is  it  without  any  sort  of  bearing  on 
physics,  metaphysics,  and  political  science  ?  Can  we 
drop  it  out  of  the  circle  of  knowledge,  without  allow- 
ing, either  that  that  circle  is  thereby  mutilated,  or  on 
the  other  hand,  that  Theology  is  really  no  science  ? 

And  this  dilemma  is  the  more  inevitable,  because 
Theology  is  so  precise  and  consistent  in  its  intellectual 
structure.  When  I  speak  of  Theism  or  Monotheism, 
I  am  not  throwing  together  discordant  doctrines  ;  I  am 
not  merging  belief,  opinion,  persuasion,  of  whatever 
kind,  into  a  shapeless  aggregate,  by  the  help  of  ambig- 
uous words,  and  dignifying  this  medley  by  the  name 
of  Theology.  I  speak  of  one  idea  unfolded  in  its  just 
proportions,  carried  out  upon  an  intelligible  method, 
and  issuing  in  necessary  and  immutable  results  ;  under- 
stood indeed  at  one  time  and  place  better  than  at 
another,  held  here  and  there  with  more  or  less  of  in- 
consistency, but  still,  after  all,  in  all  times  and  places, 
where  it  is  found,  the  evolution,  not  of  half-a-dozen 
ideas,  but  of  one. — Idea  of  a  University,  ed.  1891, 
pp.  60-67  (1852). 
8 


Brt  anfc  IRelfgfon. 

AND  now  I  have  said  enough  to  explain  the  incon- 
venience which  I  conceive  necessarily  to  result  from 
a  refusal  to  recognize  theological  truth  in  a  course  of 
Universal  Knowledge  ; — it  is  not  only  the  loss  of  Theo- 
logy, it  is  the  perversion  of  other  sciences.  What  it 
unjustly  forfeits,  others  unjustly  seize.  They  have 
their  own  department,  and,  in  going  out  of  it,  attempt  to 
do  what  they  really  cannot  do ;  and  that  the  more  mis- 
chievously, because  they  do  teach  what  in  its  place  is 
true,  though  when  out  of  its  place,  perverted  or  carried 
to  excess,  it  is  not  true.  And,  as  every  man  has  not 
the  capacity  of  separating  truth  from  falsehood,  they 
persuade  the  world  of  what  is  false  by  urging  upon  it 
what  is  true.  Nor  is  it  open  enemies  alone  who  en- 
counter us  here,  sometimes  it  is  friends,  sometimes 
persons  who,  if  not  friends,  at  least  have  no  wish  to 
oppose  Religion,  and  are  not  conscious  they  are  doing 
so ;  and  it  will  carry  out  my  meaning  more  fully  if  I 
give  some  illustrations  of  it. 

As  to  friends,  I  may  take  as  an  instance  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  Fine  Arts,  Painting",  Sculpture,  Architect- 
ure, to  which  I  may  add  Music.  These  high  minis- 
ters of  the  Beautiful  and  the  Noble  are,  it  is  plain, 
special  attendants  and  handmaids  of  Religion  ;  but 
it  is  equally  plain  that  they  are  apt  to  forget  their 
114 


ART  AND  RELIGION.  115 

place,  and,  unless  restrained  with  a  firm  hand,  instead 
of  being  servants,  will  aim  at  becoming  principals. 
Here  lies  the  advantage,  in  an  ecclesiastical  point  of 
view,  of  their  more  rudimental  state,  I  mean  of  the  an- 
cient style  of  architecture,  of  Gothic  sculpture  and 
painting,  and  of  what  is  called  Gregorian  music,  that 
these  inchoate  sciences  have  so  little  innate  vigour  and 
life  in  them,  that  they  are  in  no  danger  of  going  out  of 
their  place,  and  giving  the  law  to  Religion.  But  the 
case  is  very  different  when  genius  has  breathed  upon 
their  natural  elements,  and  has  developed  them  into 
what  I  may  call  intellectual  powers.  When  Painting, 
for  example,  grows  into  the  fulness  of  its  function  as  a 
simply  imitative  art,  it  at  once  ceases  to  be  a  dependant 
on  the  Church.  It  has  an  end  of  its  own,  and  that  of 
earth  :  Nature  is  its  pattern,  and  the  object  it  pursues 
is  the  beauty  of  Nature,  even  till  it  becomes  an  ideal 
beauty,  but  a  natural  beauty  still.  It  cannot  imitate 
that  beauty  of  Angels  and  Saints  which  it  has  never 
seen.  At  first,  indeed,  by  outlines  and  emblems  it 
shadowed  out  the  Invisible,  and  its  want  of  skill  became 
the  instrument  of  reverence  and  modesty ;  but  as  time 
went  on  and  it  attained  its  full  dimensions  as  an  art,  it 
rather  subjected  Religion  to  its  own  ends  than  minis- 
tered to  the  ends  of  Religion,  and  in  its  long  galleries 
and  stately  chambers,  did  but  mingle  adorable  figures 
and  sacred  histories  with  a  multitude  of  earthly,  not  to 
say  unseemly  forms,  which  the  Art  had  created,  bor- 
rowing withal  a  colouring  and  a  character  from  that  bad 
company.  Not  content  with  neutral  ground  for  its  de- 
velopment, it  was  attracted  by  the  sublimity  of  divine 
subjects  to  ambitious  and  hazardous  essays.  Without 


n6  ART  AND  RELIGION. 

my  saying  a  word  more,  you  will  clearly  understand. 
Gentlemen,  that  under  these  circumstances  Religion 
was  bound  to  exert  itself,  that  the  world  might  not 
gain  an  advantage  over  it.  Put  out  of  sight  the  severe 
teaching  of  Catholicism  in  the  schools  of  Painting,  as 
men  now  would  put  it  aside  in  their  philosophical 
studies,  and  in  no  long  time  you  would  have  the  hierar- 
chy of  the  Church,  the  Anchorite  and  Virgin-martyr, 
the  Confessor  and  the  Doctor,  the  Angelic  Hosts,  the 
Mother  of  God,  the  Crucifix,  the  Eternal  Trinity,  sup- 
planted by  a  sort  of  pagan  mythology  in  the  guise  of 
sacred  names,  by  a  creation  indeed  of  high  genius,  of 
intense,  and  dazzling,  and  soul-absorbing  beauty,  in 
which,  however,  there  was  nothing  which  subserved 
the  cause  of  Religion,  nothing  on  the  other  hand  which 
did  not  directly  or  indirectly  minister  to  corrupt  nature 
and  the  powers  of  darkness. 

The  art  of  Painting,  however,  is  peculiar:  Music 
and  Architecture  are  more  ideal,  and  their  respective 
archetypes,  even  if  not  supernatural,  at  least  are  ab- 
stract and  unearthly  ;  and  yet  what  I  have  been  observ- 
ing about  Painting,  holds,  I  think,  analogously,  in  the 
marvellous  development  which  Musical  Science  has 
undergone  in  the  last  century.  Doubtless  here  too  the 
highest  genius  may  be  made  subservient  to  Religion  ; 
here  too,  still  more  simply  than  in  the  case  of  Painting, 
the  Science  has  a  field  of  its  own,  perfectly  innocent, 
into  which  Religion  does  not  and  need  not  enter ;  on 
the  other  hand  here  also,  in  the  case  of  Music  as  of 
Painting,  it  is  certain  that  Religion  must  be  alive  and 
on  the  defensive,  for,  if  its  servants  sleep,  a  potent  en- 


ART  AND  RELIGION. 


117 


chantment  will  steal  over  it.  Music,  I  suppose,  though 
this  is  not  the  place  to  enlarge  upon  it,  has  an  object 
of  its  own  ;  as  mathematical  science  also,  it  is  the  ex- 
pression of  ideas  greater  and  more  profound  than  any 
in  the  visible  world,  ideas,  which  centre  indeed  in  Him 
whom  Catholicism  manifests,  who  is  the  seat  of  all 
beauty,  order,  and  perfection  whatever,  still  ideas  after 
all  which  are  not  those  on  which  Revelation  directly 
and  principally  fixes  our  gaze.  If  then  a  great  master 
in  this  mysterious  science  (if  I  may  speak  of  matters 
which  seem  to  lie  out  of  my  own  province)  throws  him- 
self on  his  own  gift,  trusts  its  inspirations,  and  ab- 
sorbs himself  in  those  thoughts  which,  though  they 
come  to  him  in  the  way  of  nature,  belong  to  things 
above  nature,  it  is  obvious  he  will  neglect  everything 
else.  Rising  in  his  strength,  he  will  break  through  the 
trammels  of  words,  he  will  scatter  human  voices,  even 
the  sweetest,  to  the  winds ;  he  will  be  borne  upon 
nothing  less  than  the  fullest  flood  of  sounds  which  art 
has  enabled  him  to  draw  from  mechanical  contri- 
vances ;  he  will  go  forth  as  a  giant,  as  far  as  ever  his 
instruments  can  reach,  starting  from  their  secret  depths 
fresh  and  fresh  elements  of  beauty  and  grandeur  as  he 
goes,  and  pouring  them  together  into  still  more  marvel- 
lous and  rapturous  combinations  ; — and  well  indeed 
and  lawfully,  while  he  keeps  to  that  line  which  is  his 
own  ;  but,  should  he  happen  to  be  attracted,  as  he  well 
may,  by  the  sublimity,  so  congenial  to  him,  of  the 
Catholic  doctrine  and  ritual,  should  he  engage  in 
sacred  themes,  should  he  resolve  by  means  of  his  art 
to  do  honour  to  the  Mass,  or  the  Divine  Office, — (he 
cannot  have  a  more  pious,  a  better  purpose,  and  Re- 


1 18  ART  AND  RELIGION. 

ligion  will  gracefully  accept  what  he  gracefully  offers ; 
but) — is  it  not  certain,  from  the  circumstances  of  the 
case,  that  he  will  be  carried  on  rather  to  use  Religion 
than  to  minister  to  it,  unless  Religion  is  strong  on  its 
own  ground,  and  reminds  him  that,  if  he  would  do 
honour  to  the  highest  of  subjects,  he  must  make  him- 
self its  scholar,  must  humbly  follow  the  thoughts  given 
him,  and  must  aim  at  the  glory,  not  of  his  own  gift,  but 
of  the  Great  Giver  ? — Idea  of  a  University \  ed.  1891, 
pp.  78-81  (1852). 


THE  Prejudiced  Man,  then — for  thus  I  shall  personify 
that  narrow,  ungenerous  spirit  which  energizes  and  op- 
erates so  widely  and  so  unweariedly  in  the  Protestant 
community — the  Prejudiced  Man  takes  it  for  granted, 
or  feels  an  undoubting  persuasion, — not  only  that  he 
himself  is  in  possession  of  divine  truth,  for  this  is  a 
matter  of  opinion,  and  he  has  a  right  to  his  own, — but 
that  we,  who  differ  from  him,  are  universally  impostors, 
tyrants,  hypocrites,  cowards,  and  slaves.  This  is  a 
first  principle  with  him ;  it  is  like  divine  faith  in  the 
Catholic,  nothing  can  shake  it.  If  he  meets  with  any 
story  against  Catholics,  on  any  or  no  authority,  which 
does  but  fall  in  with  this  notion  of  them,  he  eagerly 
catches  at  it.  Authority  goes  for  nothing ;  likelihood, 
as  he  considers  it,  does  instead  of  testimony  ;  what  he 
is  now  told  is  just  what  he  expected.  Perhaps  it  is  a 
random  report,  put  into  circulation  merely  because  it 
has  a  chance  of  succeeding,  or  thrown  like  a  straw  to 
the  wind  :  perhaps  it  is  a  mere  publisher's  speculation, 
who  thinks  that  a  narrative  of  horrors  will  pay  well  for 
the  printing :  it  matters  not,  he  is  perfectly  convinced 
of  its  truth ;  he  knew  all  about  it  beforehand ;  it  is 
just  what  he  always  has  said ;  it  is  the  old  tale  over 
again  a  hundred  times.  Accordingly  he  buys  it  by  the 
thousand,  and  sends  it  about  with  all  speed  in  every 

119 


120  THE  PREJUDICED  MAN. 

direction,  to  his  circle  of  friends  and  acquaintance,  to 
the  newspapers,  to  the  great  speakers  at  public  meet- 
ings ;  he  fills  the  Sunday  and  week-day  schools  with 
it ;  loads  the  pedlars'  baskets,  perhaps  introduces  it 
into  the  family  spiritual  reading  on  Sunday  evenings, 
consoled  and  comforted  with  the  reflection  that  he 
has  got  something  fresh  and  strong  and  undeniable, 
in  evidence  of  the  utter  odiousness  of  the  Catholic 
Religion. 

Next  comes  an  absolute,  explicit,  total  denial  or 
refutation  of  the  precious  calumny,  whatever  it  may 
be,  on  unimpeachable  authority.  The  Prejudiced  Man 
simply  discredits  this  denial,  and  puts  it  aside,  not  re- 
ceiving any  impression  from  it  at  all,  or  paying  it  the 
slightest  attention.  This,  if  he  can  :  if  he  cannot,  if  it 
is  urged  upon  him  by  some  friend,  or  brought  up 
against  him  by  some  opponent,  he  draws  himself  up, 
looks  sternly  at  the  objector,  and  then  says  the  very 
same  thing  as  before,  only  with  a  louder  voice  and 
more  confident  manner.  He  becomes  more  intensely 
and  enthusiastically  positive,  by  way  of  making  up  for 
the  interruption,  of  braving  the  confutation,  and  of 
showing  the  world  that  nothing  whatever  in  the  uni- 
verse will  ever  make  him  think  one  hair-breadth  more 
favourably  of  Popery  than  he  does  think,  than  he  ever 
has  thought,  and  than  his  family  ever  thought  before 
him,  since  the  time  of  the  fine  old  English  gentleman. 

If  a  person  ventures  to  ask  the  Prejudiced  Man 
what  he  knows  of  Catholics  personally — what  he  knows 
of  individuals,  of  their  ways,  of  their  books,  or  of  their 
worship,  he  blesses  himself  that  he  knows  nothing  of 
them  at  all,  and  he  never  will ;  nay,  if  they  fall  in  his 


THE  PREJUDICED  MAN.  121 

way,  he  will  take  himself  out  of  it ;  and  if  unawares  he 
shall  ever  be  pleased  with  a  Catholic  without  knowing 
who  it  is,  he  wishes  by  anticipation  to  retract  such 
feeling  of  pleasure.  About  our  state  of  mind,  our 
views  of  things,  our  ends  and  objects,  our  doctrines, 
our  defence  of  them,  our  judgment  on  his  objections  to 
them,  our  thoughts  about  him,  he  absolutely  refuses  to 
be  enlightened  :  and  he  is  as  sore  if  expostulated  with 
on  so  evident  an  infirmity  of  mind,  as  if  it  were  some 
painful  wound  upon  him,  or  local  inflammation,  which 
must  not  be  handled  ever  so  tenderly.  He  shrinks 
from  the  infliction. 

However,  one  cannot  always  make  the  whole  world 
take  one's  own  way  of  thinking;  so  let  us  suppose 
the  famous  story,  to  which  the  Prejudiced  Man  has 
pledged  his  veracity,  utterly  discredited  and  scattered 
to  the  winds  by  the  common  consent  of  mankind  : — 
this  only  makes  him  the  more  violent.  For  it  ought, 
he  thinks,  to  be  true,  and  it  is  mere  special  pleading 
to  lay  much  stress  on  its  not  having  all  the  evidence 
which  it  might  have  ?  for  if  it  be  not  true,  yet  half  a 
hundred  like  stories  are.  It  is  only  impertinent  to 
ask  for  evidence,  when  the  fact  has  so  often  been 
established.  What  is  the  good  of  laboriously  vindicat- 
ing St.  Eligius,  or  exposing  a  leading  article  in  a  news- 
paper, or  a  speaker  at  a  meeting,  or  a  popular  publica- 
tion, when  the  thing  is  notorious ;  and  to  deny  it  is 
nothing  else  than  a  vexatious  demand  upon  his  time, 
and  an  insult  to  his  common  sense.  He  feels  the 
same  sort  of  indignation  which,  the  Philistine  cham- 
pion, Goliath,  might  have  felt  when  David  went  out  to 
fight  with  him.  "  Am  I  a  dog,  that  thou  comest  to  me 


122  THE  PREJUDICED  MAN. 

with  a  staff?  and  the  Philistine  cursed  him  by  his 
gods."  And,  as  the  huge  giant,  had  he  first  been  hit, 
not  in  the  brain,  but  in  the  foot  or  the  shoulder,  would 
have  yelled,  not  with  pain,  but  with  fury  at  the  insult, 
and  would  not  have  been  frightened  at  all  or  put  upon 
the  defensive,  so  our  Prejudiced  Man  is  but  enraged 
so  much  the  more,  and  almost  put  beside  himself,  by 
the  presumption  of  those  who,  with  their  doubts  or 
their  objections,  interfere  with  the  great  Protestant 
Tradition  about  the  Catholic  Church.  To  bring  proof 
against  us  is,  he  thinks,  but  a  matter  of  time ;  and  we 
know  in  affairs  of  every  day,  how  annoyed  and  impa- 
tient we  are  likely  to  become,  when  obstacles  are  put 
in  our  way  in  any  such  case.  We  are  angered  at 
delays  when  they  are  but  accidental,  and  the  issue  is 
certain ;  we  are  not  angered,  but  we  are  sobered,  we 
become  careful  and  attentive  to  impediments,  when 
there  is  a  doubt  about  the  issue.  The  very  same  dif- 
ficulties put  us  on  our  mettle  in  the  one  case,  and  do 
but  irritate  us  in  the  other.  If,  for  instance,  a  person 
cannot  open  a  door,  or  get  a  key  into  a  lock,  which  he 
has  done  a  hundred  times  before,  you  know  how  apt 
he  is  to  shake,  and  to  rattle,  and  to  force  it,  as  if  some 
great  insult  was  offered  him  by  its  resistance :  you 
know  how  surprised  a  wasp,  or  other  large  insect  is, 
that  he  cannot  get  through  a  window-pane  ;  such  is  the 
feeling  of  the  Prejudiced  Man,  when  we  urge  our  ob- 
jections— not  softened  by  them  at  all,  but  exasperated 
the  more  ;  for  what  is  the  use  of  even  incontrovertible 
arguments  against  a  conclusion  which  he  already  con- 
siders to  be  infallible  ? 

This,   you    see,  is  the   reason   why  the  most   over 


THE  PREJUDICED  MAX.  123 

whelming  refutations  of  the  calumnies  brought  against 
us  do  us  no  good  at  all  with  the  Protestant  com- 
munity. We  were  tempted,  perhaps,  to  say  to  our- 
selves, "  What  will  they  have  to  say  in  answer  to  this  ? 
now  at  last  the  falsehood  is  put  down  forever,  it  will 
never  show  its  face  again  ?  "  Vain  hope  !  just  the  re- 
verse :  like  Milton's  day-star,  after  sinking  into  the 
ocean,  it  soon  "  repairs  its  drooping  head," 

"  And  tricks  its  beams,  and  with  new-spangled  ore 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky." 

Certainly  ;  for  it  is  rooted  in  the  mind  itself  ;  it  has 
no  uncertain  holding  upon  things  external ;  it  does 
not  depend  on  the  accident  of  time,  or  place,  or 
testimony,  or  sense,  or  possibility,  or  fact ;  it  depends 
on  the  will  alone.  Therefore,  "  unhurt  amid  the  war 
'of  elements,"  it  "smiles"  at  injury,  and  "defies" 
defeat;  for  it  is  safe  and  secure,  while  it  has  the 
man's  own  will  on  its  side.  Such  is  the  virtue  of 
prejudice — it  is  ever  reproductive ;  in  vain  is  Jeffreys 
exposed  ;  he  rises  again  in  Teodore ;  Teodore  is  put 
down  ;  in  vain,  for  future  story-tellers  and  wonder- 
mongers,  as  yet  unknown  to  fame,  are  below  the 
horizon,  and  will  come  to  view,  and  will  unfold  their 
Jale  of  horror,  each  in  his  day,  in  long  succession ; 
i'or  these  whispers,  and  voices,  and  echoes,  and  re- 
verberations, are  but  the  response,  and,  as  it  were, 
the  expression  of  that  profound  inward  persuasion,  and 
that  intense  illusion,  which  wraps  the  soul  and  steeps 
the  imagination  of  the  Prejudiced  Man. 

However,  we  will  suppose  him  in  a  specially  good 


124  THE  PREJUDICED  MAN. 

humour,  when  you  set  about  undeceiving  him  on  some 
point  on  which  he  misstates  the  Catholic  faith.  He 
is  determined  to  be  candour  and  fairness  itself,  and  to 
do  full  justice  to  your  argument.  So  you  begin  your 
explanation  ;  you  assure  him  he  misconceives  your 
doctrines ;  he  has  got  a  wrong  view  of  facts.  You  ap- 
peal to  original  authorities,  and  show  him  how  shame- 
fully they  have  been  misquoted  ;  you  appeal  to  history 
and  prove  it  has  been  garbled.  Nothing  is  wanted  to 
your  representation  ;  it  is  triumphant.  He  is  silent  for 
a  moment,  then  he  begins  with  a  sentiment.  "  What 
clever  fellows  these  Catholics  are !  "  he  says,  "  I  defy 
you  to  catch  them  tripping ;  they  have  a  way  out  of 
everything.  I  thought  we  had  you,  but  I  fairly  own  I 
am  beaten.  This  is  how  the  Jesuits  got  on  ;  always 
educated,  subtle,  well  up  in  their  books  ;  a  Protestant 
has  no  chance  with  them."  You  see,  my  Brothers, 
you  have  not  advanced  a  step  in  convincing  him. 

Such  is  the  Prejudiced  Man  at  best  advantage  ;  but 
commonly  under  the  same  circumstances  he  will  be 
grave  and  suspicious.  "  I  confess,"  he  will  say,  "  I 
do  not  like  these  very  complete  explanations ;  they 
are  too  like  a  made-up  case.  I  can  easily  believe 
there  was  exaggeration  in  the  charge  ;  perhaps  money 
was  only  sometimes  taken  for  the  permission  to  sin, 
or  only  before  the  Reformation,  but  our  friend  pro- 
fesses to  prove  it  never  was  taken ;  this  is  proving 
too  much.  I  always  suspect  something  behind,  when 
everything  is  so  very  easy  and  clear."  Or  again, 
"We  see  before  our  eyes  a  tremendous  growth  of 
Popery ;  how  does  it  grow  ?  You  tell  me  you  are 
poor,  your  priests  few,  your  friends  without  influence  ; 


THE  PREJUDICED  MAN.  125 

then  how  does  it  grow  ?  It  could  not  grow  without 
means  !  it  is  bad  enough  if  you  can  assign  a  cause  ; 
it  is  worse  if  you  cannot.  Cause  there  must  be 
somewhere,  for  effects  imply  causes.  How  did  it  get 
into  Oxford  ?  tell  me  that.  How  has  it  got  among 
the  Protestant  clergy  ?  I  like  all  things  above  board ; 
I  hate  concealment,  I  detest  plots.  There  is  evi- 
dently something  to  be  accounted  for  ;  and  the  more 
cogently  you  prove  that  it  is  not  referable  to  anything 
which  we  see,  the  graver  suspicions  do  you  awaken, 
that  it  is  traceable  to  something  which  is  hidden." 
Thus  our  Prejudiced  Man  simply  ignores  the  possible 
existence  of  that  special  cause  to  which  Catholics  of 
course  refer  the  growth  of  Catholicism,  and  which 
surely,  if  admitted,  is  sufficient  to  account  for  it — viz., 
that  it  is  true.  He  will  not  admit  the  power  of  truth 
among  the  assignable  conjectural  causes.  He  would 
rather,  I  am  sure,  assign  it  to  the  agency  of  evil 
spirits,  than  suspect  the  possibility  of  a  religion  being 
true  which  he  wills  should  be  a  falsehood. — Present 
Position  of  Catholics,  ed.  1889,  pp.  236-243  (1851). 


The  Prejudiced  Man  travels,  and  then  everything  he 
sees  in  Catholic  countries  only  serves  to  make  him  more 
thankful  that  his  notions  are  so  true  ;  and  the  more  he 
sees  of  Popery,  the  more  abominable  he  feels  it  to  be. 
If  there  is  any  Sin,  any  evil  in  a  foreign  population, 
though  it  be  found  among  Protestants  also,  still  Popery 
is  clearly  the  cause  of  it.  If  great  cities  are  the  schools 
of  vice,  it  is  owing  to  Popery.  If  Sunday  is  profaned, 


126  THE  PREJUDICED  MAN. 

if  there  is  a  carnival,  it  is  the  fault  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  Then,  there  are  no  private  homes,  as  in  Eng- 
land, families  live  on  staircases  ;  see  what  it  is  to  belong 
to  a  Popish  country.  Why  do  the  Roman  labourers 
wheel  their  barrows  so  slow  on  the  Forum  ?  why  do  the 
Lazzaroni  of  Naples  lie  so  listlessly  on  the  beach  ?  why, 
but  because  they  are  under  the  malaria  of  a  false  relig- 
ion. Rage,  as  is  well-known,  is  in  the  Roman  like  a 
falling  sickness,  almost  as  if  his  will  had  no  part  in  it 
and  he  had  no  responsibility  ;  see  what  it  is  to  be  a 
Papist.  Bloodletting  is  as  frequent  and  as  much  a 
matter  of  course  in  the  South  as  hair-cutting  in  Eng- 
land ;  it  is  a  trick  borrowed  from  the  convents,  when 
they  wish  to  tame  down  refractory  spirits. — Present  Posi- 
tion of  Catholics^  ed,  1889,  pp.  249-250  (1851). 


Count  potemfcin  anD  Jobn  3Butl. 

AND  here  I  might  conclude  my  subject,  which  has 
proposed  to  itself  nothing  more  than  to  suggest,  to 
those  whom  it  concerns,  that  they  would  have  more 
reason  to  be  confident  in  their  view  of  the  Catholic 
religion,  if  it  ever  had  struck  them  that  it  needed  some 
proof,  if  there  ever  had  occurred  to  their  minds  at  least 
the  possibility  of  truth  being  maligned,  and  Christ 
being  called  Beelzebub ;  but  I  am  tempted,  before 
concluding,  to  go  on  to  try  whether  something  of  a 
monster  indictment,  similarly  frightful  and  similarly 
fantastical  to  that  which  is  got  up  against  Catholicism, 
might  not  be  framed  against  some  other  institution  or 
power,  of  parallel  greatness  and  excellence,  in  its 
degree  and  place,  to  the  communion  of  Rome.  For 
this  purpose  I  will  take  the  British  Constitution,  which 
is  so  specially  the  possession,  and  so  deservedly  the 
glory,  of  our  own  people ;  and  in  taking  it  I  need 
hardly  say,  I  take  it  for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  so 
rightfully  the  object  of  our  wonder  and  veneration.  I 
should  be  but  a  fool  for  my  pains,  if  I  laboured  to 
prove  it  otherwise ;  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  of  human 
works,  as  admirable  in  its  own  line,  to  take  the  produc- 
tions of  genius  in  very  various  departments,  as  the 
Pyramids,  as  the  wall  of  China,  as  the  paintings  of 
Raffaelle,  as  the  Apollo  Belvidere,  as  the  plays  of 

127 


1 28        COUNT  PO TEMKIN  AND  JOHN  BULL. 

Shakespeare,  as  the  Newtonian  theory,  and  as  the  ex- 
ploits of  Napoleon.  It  soars,  in  its  majesty,  far  above 
the  opinions  of  men,  and  will  be  a  marvel,  almost  a 
portent,  to  the  end  of  time  ;  but  for  that  very  reason  it 
is  more  to  my  purpose,  when  I  would  show  you  how 
even  it,  the  British  Constitution,  would  fare,  when  sub- 
mitted to  the  intellect  of  Exeter  Hall,  and  handled  by 
practitioners,  whose  highest  effort  at  dissection  is  to 
chop  and  to  mangle. 

I  will  suppose,  then,  a  speaker,  and  an  audience  too, 
who  never  saw  England,  never  saw  a  member  of  par- 
liament, a  policeman,  a  queen,  or  a  London  mob ; 
who  never  read  the  English  history,  nor  studied  any 
one  of  our  philosophers,  jurists,  moralists,  or  poets  ; 
but  who  has  dipped  into  Blackstone  and  several  Eng- 
lish writers,  and  has  picked  up  facts  at  third  or  fourth 
hand,  and  has  got  together  a  crude  farrago  of  ideas, 
words,  and  instances,  a  little  truth,  a  deal  of  falsehood, 
a  deal  of  misrepresentation,  a  deal  of  nonsense,  and  a 
deal  of  invention.  And  most  fortunately  for  my  pur- 
pose, here  is  an  account  transmitted  express  by  the 
private  correspondent  of  a  morning  paper,  of  a  great 
meeting  held  about  a  fortnight  since  at  Moscow,  under 
sanction  of  the  Czar,  on  occasion  of  an  attempt  made 
by  one  or  two  Russian  noblemen  to  spread  British 
ideas  in  his  capital.  It  seems  the  emperor  thought 
it  best  in  the  present  state  of  men's  minds,  when  se- 
cret societies  are  so  rife,  to  put  down  the  movement 
by  argument  rather  than  by  a  military  force  ;  and  so 
he  instructed  the  governor  of  Moscow  to  connive  at 
the  project  of  a  great  public  meeting  which  should  be 
opened  to  the  small  faction  of  Anglo-maniacs,  or 


COUNT  POTEMKIN  AND  JOHN  BULL.         129 

John-Bullists,  as  they  are  popularly  termed,  as  well 
as  to  the  mass  of  the  population.  As  many  as  ten 
thousand  men,  as  far  as  the  writer  could  calculate, 
were  gathered  together  in  one  of  the  largest  places 
of  the  city ;  a  number  of  spirited  and  impressive 
speeches  were  made,  in  all  of  which,  however,  was 
illustrated  the  fable  of  the  "  Lion  and  the  Man,"  the 
man  being  the  Russ,  and  the  lion  our  old  friend  the 
British ;  but  the  most  successful  of  all  is  said  to  have 
been  the  final  harangue,  by  a  member  of  a  junior 
branch  of  the  Potemkin  family,  once  one  of  the  impe- 
rial aides-de-camp,  who  has  spent  the  last  thirty  years 
in  the  wars  of  the  Caucasus.  This  distinguished 
veteran,  who  has  acquired  the  title  of  Blood-sucker, 
from  his  extraordinary  gallantry  in  combat  with  the 
Circassian  tribes,  spoke  at  great  length  ;  and  the  ex- 
press contains  a  portion  of  his  highly  inflammatory 
address,  of  which,  and  of  certain  consequences  which 
followed  it,  the  British  minister  is  said  already  to 
have  asked  an  explanation  of  the  cabinet  of  St.  Peters- 
burg :  I  transcribe  it  as  it  may  be  supposed  to  stand 
in  the  morning  print : 

The  Count  began  by  observing  that  the  events  of 
every  dayj  as  it  came,  called  on  his  countrymen  more 
and  more  importunately  to  choose  their  side,  and  to 
make  a  firm  stand  against  a  perfidious  power,  which 
arrogantly  proclaims  that  there  is  nothing  like  the 
British  Constitution  in  the  whole  world,  and  that  no 
country  can  prosper  without  it ;  which  is  yearly 
aggrandizing  itself  in  East,  West,  and  South,  which 
is  engaged  in  one  enormous  conspiracy  against  all 
9 


130         CO UNT  PO  TEMKIN  AND  JOHN-  B ULL. 

States,  and  which  was  even  aiming  at  modifying  the 
old  institutions  of  the  North,  and  at  dressing  up  the 
army,  navy,  legislature,  and  executive  of  his  own 
country  in  the  livery  of  Queen  Victoria.  "  Insular  in 
situation,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  at  the  back  gate  of 
the  world,  what  has  John  Bull  to  do  with  continental 
matters,  or  with  the  political  traditions  of  our  holy 
Russia?"  And  yet  there  were  men  in  that  very  city 
who  were  so  far  the  dupes  of  insidious  propagandists 
and  insolent  traitors  to  their  emperor,  as  to  maintain 
that  England  had  been  a  civilized  country  longer  than 
Russia.  On  the  contrary,  he  maintained,  and  he 
would  shed  the  last  drop  of  his  blood  in  maintaining, 
that,  as  for  its  boasted  Constitution,  it  was  a  crazy, 
old-fa.chioned  piece  of  furniture,  and  an  eyesore  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  and  would  not  last  a  dozen  years. 
He  had  the  best  information  for  saying  so.  He  could 
understand  those  who  had  never  crossed  out  of  their 
island,  listening  to  the  songs  about  "  Rule  Britannia," 
and  "Rosbif,"  and  "  Poor  Jack,"  and  the  "Old  Eng- 
lish Gentleman  "  ;  he  understood  and  he  pitied  them  ; 
but  that  Russians,  that  the  conquerors  of  Napoleon, 
that  the  heirs  of  a  paternal  government,  should  bow 
the  knee,  and  kiss  the  hand,  and  walk  backwards,  and 
perform  other  antics  before  the  face  of  a  limited  mon- 
arch, this  was  the  incomprehensible  foolery  which 
certain  Russians  had  viewed  with  so  much  tenderness. 
He  repeated,  there  were  in  that  city  educated  men, 
who  had  openly  professed  a  reverence  for  the  atheisti- 
cal tenets  and  fiendish  maxims  of  John-Bullism. 

Here   the  speaker  was  interrupted  by  one  or  two 
murmurs  of  dissent,  and  a  foreigner,  supposed  to  be  a 


COUNT  PO TEMKIN  AND  JOHN  BULL.        13 1 

partner  in  a  Scotch  firm,  was  observed  in  the  extremity 
of  the  square,  making  earnest  attempts  to  obtain  a 
hearing.  He  was  put  down,  however,  amid  enthusi- 
astic cheering,  and  the  Count  proceeded  with  a  warmth 
of  feeling  which  increased  the  effect  of  the  terrible 
invective  which  followed.  He  said  he  had  used  the 
words  "  atheistical  "  and  "  fiendish  "  most  advisedly, 
and  he  would  give  his  reasons  for  doing  so.  What 
was  to  be  said  to  any  political  power  which  claimed 
the  attribute  of  Divinity  ?  Was  any  term  too  strong 
for  such  a  usurpation  ?  Now,  no  one  would  deny 
Antichrist  would  be  such  a  power :  an  Antichrist 
was  contemplated,  was  predicted  in  Scripture,  it  was 
to  come  in  the  last  times,  it  was  to  grow  slowly,  it 
was  to  manifest  itself  warily  and  craftily,  and  then  to 
have  a  mouth  speaking  great  things  against  the 
Divinity  and  against  His  attributes.  This  prediction 
was  most  literally  and  exactly  fulfilled  in  the  British 
Constitution.  Antichrist  was  not  only  to  usurp,  but 
to  profess  to  usurp  the  arms  of  heaven — he  was  to 
arrogate  its  titles.  This  was  the  special  mark  of  the 
beast,  and  where  was  it  fulfilled  but  in  John-Bullism  ? 
"  I  hold  in  my  hand,"  continued  the  speaker,  "  a  book 
which  I  have  obtained  under  very  remarkable  circum- 
stances. It  is  not  known  to  the  British  people,  it  is 
circulated  only  among  the  lawyers,  merchants,  and 
aristocracy,  and  its  restrictive  use  is  secured  only  by 
the  most  solemn  oaths,  the  most  fearful  penalties,  and 
the  utmost  vigilance  of  the  police.  I  procured  it 
after  many  years  of  anxious  search  by  the  activity  of 
an  agent,  and  the  co-operation  of  an  English  book- 
seller, and  it  cost  me  an  enormous  sum  to  make  it  my 


132         COUNT  PO TEMKIN  AND  JOHN  B ULL. 

own.  It  is  called  '  Blackstone's  Commentaries  on  the 
Laws  of  England,'  and  I  am  happy  to  make  known  to 
the  universe  its  odious  and  shocking  mysteries,  known 
to  few  Britons,  and  certainly  not  known  to  the  deluded 
persons  whose  vagaries  have  been  the  occasion  of  this 
meeting.  I  am  sanguine  in  thinking  that  when  they 
come  to  know  the  real  tenets  of  John  Bull,  they  will  at 
once  disown  his  doctrines  with  horror,  and  break  off  all 
connection  with  his  adherents. 

"  Now,  I  should  say,  gentlemen,  that  this  book, 
while  it  is  confined  to  certain  classes,  is  of  those 
classes,  on  the  other  hand,  of  judges,  and  lawyers, 
and  privy  councillors,  and  justices  of  the  peace,  and 
police  magistrates,  and  clergy,  and  country  gentlemen, 
the  guide,  and  I  may  say,  the  gospel.  I  open  the 
book,  gentlemen,  and  what  are  the  first  words  which 
meet  my  eyes  ?  '  The  King  can  do  no  wrong.'  I  beg 
you  to  attend,  gentlemen,  to  this  most  significant 
assertion ;  one  was  accustomed  to  think  that  no  child 
of  man  had  the  gift  of  impeccability ;  one  had  im- 
agined that,  simply  speaking,  impeccability  was  a 
divine  attribute ;  but  this  British  Bible,  as  I  may  call 
it,  distinctly  ascribes  an  absolute  sinlessness  to  the 
King  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  Observe,  I  am 
using  no  words  of  my  own,  I  am  still  but  quoting  what 
meets  my  eyes  in  this  remarkable  document.  The 
words  run  thus  :  '  It  is  an  axiom  of  the  law  of  the  land 
that  the  King  himself  can  do  no  wrong.'  Was  I 
wrong,  then,  in  speaking  of  the  atheistical  maxims  of 
John  Bullism  ?  But  this  is  far  from  all :  the  writer 
goes  on  actually  to  ascribe  to  the  Sovereign  (I  tremble 
while  I  pronounce  the  words)  absolute  perfection;  for 


CO UNT  PO  TEMKIN  AND  JOHN  B ULL.        133 

he  speaks  thus  :  '  The  law  ascribes  to  the  King  in  his 
political  capacity  ABSOLUTE  PERFECTION  ;  the  King  can 
do  no  wrong!' — (groans).  One  had  thought  that  no 
human  power  could  thus  be  described ;  but  the 
British  legislature,  judicature,  and  jurisprudence,  have 
had  the  unspeakable  effrontery  to  impute  to  their 
crowned  and  sceptred  idol,  to  their  doll," — here  cries 
of  "  shame,  shame,"  from  the  same  individual  who  had 
distinguished  himself  in  an  earlier  part  of  the  speech 
— "  to  this  doll,  this  puppet  whom  they  have  dressed 
up  with  a  lion  and  a  unicorn,  the  attribute  of  ABSOLUTE 
PERFECTION  !  "  Here  the  individual  who  had  several 
times  interrupted  the  speaker  sprung  up,  in  spite  of  the 
efforts  of  persons  about -him  to  keep  him  down,  and 
cried  out,  as  far  as  his  words  could  be  collected,  "  You 
cowardly  liar,  our  dear  good  little  Queen,"  when  he 
was  immediately  saluted  with  a  cry  of  "  Turn  him  out," 
and  soon  made  his  exit  from  the  meeting. 

Order  being  restored,  the  Count  continued : 
"  Gentlemen,  I  could  wish  you  would  have  suffered  this 
emissary  of  a  foreign  potenate  (immense  cheering), 
who  is  insidiously  aiming  at  forming  a  political  party 
among  us,  to  have  heard  to  the  end  that  black 
catalogue  of  charges  against  his  Sovereign,  which  as 
yet  I  have  barely  commenced.  Gentlemen,  I  was  say- 
ing that  the  Queen  of  England  challenges  the  divine 
attribute  of  ABSOLUTE  PERFECTION  !  but,  as  if  this  were 
not  enough  this  Blackstone  continues,  '  The  King, 
moreover,  is  not  only  incapable  of  doing  wrong,  but 
even  of  thinking  wrong  ! !  he  can  never  do  an  improper 
thing ;  in  him  is  no  FOLLY  or  WEAKNESS  ! ! ! '  " 
(Shudders  and  cheers  from  the  vast  assemblage,  which 


134         COUNT  POTEMKIN  AND  JOHN  BULL. 

lasted  alternately  some  minutes.)  At  the  same  time  a 
respectably  dressed  gentleman  below  the  platform 
begged  permission  to  look  at  the  book ;  it  was  immedi- 
ately handed  to  him  ;  after  looking  at  the  passages,  he 
was  observed  to  inspect  carefully  the  title-page  and 
binding ;  he  then  returned  it  without  a  word. 

The  Count,  in  resuming  his  speech,  observed  that 
he  courted  and  challenged  investigation,  he  should  be 
happy  to  answer  any  question,  and  he  hoped  soon  to 
publish,  by  subscription,  a  translation  of  the  work,  from 
which  he  had  been  quoting.  Then,  resuming  the  sub- 
ject where  he  had  left  it,  he  made  some  most  forcible 
and  impressive  reflections  on  the  miserable  state  of 
those  multitudes,  who,  in  spite  of  their  skill  in  the 
mechanical  arts,  and  their  political  energy,  were  in  the. 
leading-strings  of  so  foul  a  superstition.  The  passage 
he  had  quoted  was  the  first  and  mildest  of  a  series  of 
blasphemies  so  prodigious,  that  he  really  feared  to 
proceed,  not  only  from  .disgust  at  the  necessity  of  utter- 
ing them,  but  lest  he  should  be  taxing  the  faith  of  his 
hearers  beyond  what  appeared  reasonable  limits. 
Next,  then,  he  drew  attention  to  the  point  that  the 
English  Sovereign  distinctly  claimed,  according  to  the 
same  infamous  work,  to  be  the  "fount  of  justice ;  " 
and,  that  there  might  be  no  mistake  in  the  matter,  the 
author  declared,  "that  she  is  never  bound  in  justice  to 
do  anything"  What,  then,  is  her  method  of  acting? 
Unwilling  as  he  was  to  defile  his  lips  with  so  profane 
a  statement,  he  must  tell  them  that  this  abominable 
writer  coolly  declared  that  the  Queen,  a  woman,  only 
did  acts  of  reparation  and  restitution  as  a  matter  of 
grace!  He  was  not  a  theologian,  he  had  spent  his 


COUNT  POTEMKTN  AND  JOHN  BULL.        135 

life  in  the  field,  but  he  knew  enough  of  his  religion  to 
be  able  to  say  that  grace  was  a  word  especially  proper 
to  the  appointment  and  decrees  of  Divine  Sovereignty. 
All  his  hearers  knew  perfectly  well  that  nature  was  one 
thing,  grace  another ;  and  yet  here  was  a  poor  child 
of  clay  claiming  to  be  the  fount,  not  only  of  justice, 
but  of  grace.  She  was  making  herself  a  first  cause 
of  not  merely  natural,  but  spiritual  excellence,  and 
doing  nothing  more  or  less  than  simply  emancipating 
herself  from  her  Maker.  The  Queen,  it  seemed, 
never  obeyed  the  law  on  compulsion,  according  to 
Blackstone ;  that  is,  her  Maker  could  not  compel  her. 
This  was  no  mere  deduction  of  his  own,  as  directly 
would  be  seen.  Let  it  be  observed,  the  Apostle  called 
the  predicted  Antichrist  "  the  wicked  one,"  or,  as  it 
might  be  more  correctly  translated,  "  the  lawless,"  be- 
cause he  was  to  be  the  proud  despiser  of  all  law ;  now, 
wonderful  to  say,  this  was  the  very  assumption  of  the 
British  Parliament.  "The  Power  of  Parliament,"  said 
Sir  Edward  Coke,  "  is  so  transcendent  and  absolute, 
that  it  cannot  be  confined  within  any  bounds  !  !  It  has 
sovereign  and  uncontrollable  authority  ! !  "  Moreover, 
the  Judges  had  declared  that  "  it  is  so  high  and 
mighty  in  its  nature,  that  it  may  make  law,  and  THAT 
WHICH  is  LAW  IT  MAY  MAKE  NO  LAW  !  "  Here  verily  was 
the  mouth  speaking  great  things ;  but  there  was  more 
behind,  which,  but  for  the  atrocious  sentiments  he  had 
already  admitted  into  his  mouth,  he  really  should  not 
have  the  courage,  the  endurance  to  utter.  It  was 
sickening  to  the  soul,  and  intellect,  and  feelings  of  a 
Russ,  to  form  the  words  on  his  tongue,  and  the  ideas 
n  his  imagination.  He  would  say  what  must  be  said 


136         COUNT  POTEMKIN  AND  JOHN  BULL. 

as  quickly  as  he  could,  and  without  comment.  The 
gallant  speaker  then  delivered  the  following  passage 
from  Blackstone's  volume,  in  a  very  distinct  and  arti- 
culate whisper  :  "  Some  have  not  scrupled  to  call  its 
power — the  OMNIPOTENCE  of  Parliament !  "  No  one 
can  conceive  the  thrilling  effect  of  these  words ;  they 
were  heard  all  over  the  immense  assemblage  ;  every 
man  turned  pale ;  a  dead  silence  followed ;  one  might 
have  heard  a  pin  drop.  A  pause  of  some  minutes 
followed. 

The  speaker  continued,  evidently  labouring  under 
intense  emotion  : — "  Have  you  not  heard  enough,  my 
dear  compatriots,  of  this  hideous  system  of  John- 
Bullism  ?  was  I  wrong  in  using  the  words  fiendish  and 
atheistical  when  I  entered  upon  this  subject  ?  and 
need  I  proceed  further  with  blasphemous  details,  which 
cannot  really  add  to  the  monstrous  bearing  of  the 
passages  I  have  already  read  to  you  ?  If  the  Queen 
'cannot  do  wrong,'  if  she  '  cannot  even  think  wrong,' 
if  she  is  '  absolute  perfection,'  if  she  has  '  no  folly,  no 
weakness,'  if  she  is  the  '  fount  of  justice,'  if  she  is  '  the 
fount  of  grace,'  if  she  is  simply '  above  law,'  if  she  is 
'omnipotent,'  what  wonder  that  the  lawyers  of  John- 
Bullism  should  also  call  her  '  sacred  ! '  what  wonder 
that  they  should  speak  of  her  as  'majesty!'  what 
wonder  that  they  should,  speak  of  her  as  a  '  superior 
being ! '  Here  again  I  am  using  the  words  of  the  book 
I  hold  in  my  hand.  '  The  people  '  (my  blood  runs  cold 
while  I  repeat  them)  '  are  led  to  consider  their  Sov- 
ereign in  the  light  of  a  SUPERIOR  BEING.'  '  Every  one 
is  under  him,'  says  Bracton,  '  and  he  is  under  no  one.' 
Accordingly,  the  law-books  call  him  '  Vicarius  Dei  in 


COUNT  PO TEMKIN  AND  JOHN  BULL.         137 

terra,'  '  the  Vicar  of  God  on  earth  ; '  a  most  astonish- 
ing fulfilment,  you  observe,  of  the  prophecy,  for  'Anti- 
christ is  a  Greek  word,  which  means  'Vicar  of  Christ.' 
What  wonder,  under  these  circumstances,  that  Queen 
Elizabeth,  assuming  the  attribute  of  the  Creator,  once 
said  to  one  of  her  Bishops :  '  Proud  Prelate,  /  made 
you,  and  I  can  unmake  you  /'  What  wonder  that  James 
the  First  had  the  brazen  assurance  to  say,  that  '  As  it 
is  atheism  and  blasphemy  in  a  creature  to  dispute  the 
Deity,  so  it  is  presumption  and  sedition  in  a  subject  to 
dispute  a  King  in  the  height  of  his  power  ! '  Moreover, 
his  subjects  called  him  the  '  breath  of  their  nostrils  ; ' 
and  my  Lord  Clarendon,  the  present  Lord  Lieutenant 
of  Ireland,  in  his  celebrated  History  of  the  Rebellion, 
declares  that  the  same  haughty  monarch  actually  on 
one  occasion  called  himself  '  a  God  ; '  and  in  his  great 
legal  digest,  commonly  called  the  '  Constitutions  of 
Clarendon,'  he  gives  us  the  whole  account  of  the  King's 
banishing  the  Archbishop,  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury, 
for  refusing  to  do  him  homage.  Lord  Bacon,  too,  went 
nearly  as  far  when  he  called  him  '  Deaster  quidam,' 
'  some  sort  of  little  god.'  Alexander  Pope,  too,  calls 
Queen  Anne  a  goddess :  and  Addison,  with  a  servility 
only  equalled  by  his  profaneness,  cries  out,  "  Thee,  god- 
dess, thee  Britannia's  isle  adores.'  Nay,  even  at  this 
very  time,  when  public  attention  has  been  drawn  to  the 
subject,  Queen  Victoria  causes  herself  to  be  repre- 
sented on  her  coins  as  the  goddess  of  the  seas,  with  a 
pagan  trident  in  her  hand. 

"  Gentlemen,  can  it  surprise  you  to  be  told,  after 
such  an  exposition  of  the  blasphemies  of  England,  that, 
astonishing  to  say,  Queen  Victoria  is  distinctly  pointed 


1 38         COUNT  PO  TEMKIN  AND  JOHN  B ULL. 

out  in  the  Book  of  Revelation  as  having  the  number  of 
the  beast !  You  may  recollect  that  number  is  666, ; 
now,  she  came  to  the  throne  in  the  year  thirty-seven, 
at  which  date  she  was  eighteen  years  old.  Multiply 
then  37  by  18,  and  you  have  the  very  number  666,  which 
is  the  mystical  emblem  of  the  lawless  King  ! !  ! 

"  No  wonder  then,  with  such  monstrous  pretensions, 
and  such  awful  auguries,  that  John-Bullism  is,  in  act 
and  deed,  as  savage  and  profligate,  as  in  profession  it 
is  saintly  and  innocent.  Its  annals  are  marked  with 
blood  and  corruption.  The  historian  Hallam,  though 
one  of  the  ultra-bullist  party,  in  his  Constitutional 
History,  admits  that  the  English  tribunals  are  'dis- 
graced by  the  brutal  manners  and  iniquitous  partiality 
of  the  bench.'  '  The  general  behaviour  of  the  bench,' 
he  says  elsewhere,  '  has  covered  it  with  infamy  '  Soon 
after,  he  tells  us  that  the  dominant  faction  inflicted  on 
the  High  Church  Clergy  '  the  disgrace  and  remorse  of 
perjury.'  The  English  Kings  have  been  the  curse  and 
shame  of  human  nature.  Richard  the  First  boasted 
that  the  evil  spirit  was  the  father  of  his  family;  of 
Henry  the  Second  St.  Bernard  said,  '  From  the  devil  he 
came,  and  to  the  devil  he  will  go ; '  William  the  Second 
was  killed  by  the  enemy  of  man,  to  whom  he  had  sold 
himself,  while  hunting  in  one  of  his  forests  ;  Henry  the 
First  died  of  eating  lampreys ;  John  died  of  eating 
peaches  ;  Clarence,  a  king's  brother,  was  drowned  in  a 
butt  of  malmsey  wine  ;  Richard  the  Third  put  to  death 
his  Sovereign,  his  Sovereign's  son,  his  two  brothers, 
his  wife,  two  nephews,  and  half-a-dozen  friends.  Henry 
the  Eighth  successively  married  and  murdered  no  less 
than  six  hundred  women.  I  quote  the  words  of  the 


COUNT  PO  TEMKTN  A  AW  JOHN  BULL.         139 

'  Edinburgh  Review,'  that,  according  to  Hollinshed,  no 
less  than  70,000  persons  died  under  the  hand  of  the 
executioner  in  his  reign.  Sir  John  Fortescue 
tells  us  that  in  his  day  there  were  more  persons 
executed  for  robbery  in  England  in  one  year,  than  in 
France  in  seven.  Four  hundred  persons  a  year  were 
executed  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Even  so 
late  as  the  last  century,  in  spite  of  the  continued  pro- 
tests of  foreign  nations,  in  the  course  of  seven  years 
there  were  428  capital  convictions  in  London  alone. 
Burning  of  children,  too,  is  a  favourite  punishment  with 
John  Bull,  as  may  be  seen  in  this  same  Blackstone, 
who  notices  the  burning  of  a  girl  of  thirteen  given  by 
Sir  Matthew  Hale.  The  valets  always  assassinate 
their  masters  ;  lovers  uniformly  strangle  their  sweet- 
hearts ;  the  farmers  and  the  farmers'  wives  universally 
beat  their  apprentices  to  death  ;  and  their  lawyers  in  the 
inns  of  court  strip  and  starve  their  servants,  as  has 
appeared  from  remarkable  investigations  in  the  law 
courts  during  the  last  year.  Husbands  sell  their  wives 
by  public  auction  with  a  rope  round  their  necks.  An 
intelligent  Frenchman,  M.  Pellet,  who  visited  London 
in  1815,  deposes  that  he  saw  a  number  of  skulls  on 
each  side  of  the  river  Thames,  and  he  was  told  they 
were  found  especially  thick  at  the  landing-places 
among  the  watermen.  But  why  multiply  instances, 
when  the  names  of  those  two-legged  tigers,  Rush, 
Thistlewood,  Thurtell,  the  Mannings,  Colonel  Kirk, 
Claverhouse,  Simon  de  Monteforte,  Strafford,  the  Duke 
of  Cumberland,  Warren  Hastings,  and  Judge  Jeffreys, 
are  household  words  all  over  the  earth  ?  John-Bullism, 
through  a  space  of  800  years,  is  semper  idem,  unchange- 


1 40        CO UNT  PO  TEMKTN  AND  JOHN  B  ULL. 

able  in  evil.  One  hundred  and  sixty  offences  are 
punishable  with  death.  It  is  death  to  live  with  gipsies 
for  a  month  ;  and  Lord  Hale  mentions  thirteen  persons 
as  having,  in  his  day,  suffered  death  thereon  at  one 
assize.  It  is  death  to  steal  a  sheep,  death  to  rob  a 
warren,  death  fo  steal  a  letter,  death  to  steal  a  hand- 
kerchief, death  to  cut  down  a  cherry-tree.  And,  after 
all,  the  excesses  of  John-Bullism  at  home  are  mere  child's 
play  to  the  oceans  of  blood  it  has  shed  abroad.  It 
has  been  the  origin  of  all  the  wars  which  have  deso- 
lated Europe ;  it  has  fomented  national  jealousy,  and 
the  antipathy  of  castes  in  every  part  of  the  world  ;  it 
has  plunged  flourishing  states  into  the  abyss  of  revolu- 
tion. The  Crusades,  the  Sicilian  Vespers,  the  wars  of 
the  Reformation,  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  the  War  of 
Succession,  the  Seven  Years'  War,  the  American  War, 
the  French  Revolution,  all  are  simply  owing  to  John- 
Bull  ideas  ;  and  to  take  one  definite  instance,  in  the 
course  of  the  last  war,  the  deaths  of  two  millions  of 
the  human  race  lie  at  his  door ;  for  the  Whigs  them- 
selves, from  first  to  last,  and  down  to  this  day,  admit 
and  proclaim,  without  any  hesitation  or  limitation,  that 
that  war  was  simply  and  entirely  the  work  of  John- 
Bullism,  and  needed  not,  and  would  not  have  been, 
but  for  its  influence,  and  its  alone. 

"  Such  is  that  '  absolute  perfection,  without  folly  and 
without  weakness,'  which,  revelling  in  the  blood  of  man, 
is  still  seeking  out  her  victims,  and  scenting  blood  all 
over  the  earth.  It  is  that  woman  Jezebel,  who  fulfils 
the  prophetic  vision,  and  incurs  the  prophetic  denunci- 
ation. And,  strange  to  say,  a  prophet  of  her  own  has 
not  scrupled  to  apply  to  her  that  very  appellation. 


CO UNT  PO  TEMKIN  AND  JOHN  B  ULL.        1 4 1 

Dead  to  good  and  evil,  the  children  of  Jezebel  glory  in 
the  name  ;  and  ten  years  have  not  passed  since,  by  a 
sort  of  infatuation,  one  of  the  very  highest  Tories  in 
the  land,  a  minister,  too,  of  the  established  religion, 
hailed  the  blood-stained  Monarchy  under  the  very  title 
of  the  mystical  sorceress.  Jezebel  surely  is  her  name, 
and  Jezebel  is  her  nature  ;  for  drunk  with  the  spiritual 
wine-cup  of  wrath,  and  given  over  to  believe  a  lie,  at 
length  she  has  ascended  to  heights  which  savour  rather 
of  madness  than  of  pride ;  she  babbles  absurdities, 
and  she  thirsts  for  impossibilities.  Gentlemen,  I  am 
speaking  the  words  of  sober  seriousness  ;  I  can  prove 
what  I  say  to  the  letter ;  the  extravagance  is  not  in 
me  but  in  the  object  of  my  denunciation.  Once  more 
I  appeal  to  the  awful  volume  I  hold  in  my  hands.  I 
appeal  to  it,  I  open  it,  I  cast  it  from  me.  Listen,  then, 
once  again ;  it  is  a  fact ;  Jezebel  has  declared  her  own 
omnipresence.  l  A  consequence  of  the  royal  preroga- 
tives,' says  the  antichristian  author,  '  is  the  legal  UBI- 
QUITY of  the  King ! '  'His  Majesty  is  'always  present 
in  all  his  courts  :  his  judges  are  the  mirror  by  which 
the  King's  image  is  reflected ; '  and  further,  '  From  this 
ubiquity '  (you  see  he  is  far  from  shrinking  from  the 
word),  '  from  this  ubiquity  it  follows  that  the  Sov- 
ereign can  never  be  NONSUIT  !  ! '  Gentlemen,  the  sun 
would  set  before  I  told  you  one  hundredth  part  of  the 
enormity  of  this  child  of  Moloch  and  Belial.  Ineb- 
riated with  the  cup  of  insanity,  and  flung  upon  the 
stream  of  recklessness,  she  dashes  down  the  cataract 
of  nonsense,  and  whirls  amid  the  pools  of  confusion. 
Like  the  Roman  emperor,  she  actually  has  declared 
herself  immortal !  she  has  declared  her  eternity  1 


1 42        CO  UNT  PO  TEMKTN  A  ND  JOHN  B  ULL. 

Again,  I  am  obliged  to  say  it,  these  are  no  words  of 
mine  ;  the  tremendous  sentiment  confronts  me  in  black 
and  crimson  characters  in  this  diabolical  book.  '  In 
the  law,'  says  Blackstone,  '  the  Sovereign  is  said  never 
to  die!'  Again,  with  still  more  hideous  expressive- 
ness, '  The  law  ascribes  to  the  Sovereign  an  ABSOLUTE 

IMMORTALITY.      THE  KlNG  NEVER  DIES.' 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,  your  destiny  is  in  your  own 
hands.  If  you  are  willing  to  succumb  to  a  power 
which  has  never  been  contented  with  what  she  was, 
but  has  been  for  centuries  extending  her  conquests  in 
both  hemispheres,  then  the  humble  individual  who  has 
addressed  you  will  submit  to  the  necessary  conse- 
quence ;  will  resume  his  military  dress,  and  return  to 
the  Caucasus  ;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand,  as  I  believe, 
you  are  resolved  to  resist  unflinchingly  this  flood  of 
satanical  imposture  and  foul  ambition,  and  force  it 
back  into  the  ocean  ;  if,  not  from  hatred  to  the  Eng- 
lish— far  from  it — from  love  to  them  (for  a  distinction 
must  ever  be  drawn  between  the  nation  and  its  domi- 
nant John-Bullism)  ;  if,  I  say,  from  love  to  them  as 
brothers,  from  a  generous  determination  to  fight  their 
battles,  from  an  intimate  consciousness  that  they  are 
in  their  secret  hearts  Russians,  that  they  are  champing 
the  bit  of  their  iron  lot,  and  are  longing  for  you  as 
their  deliverers ;  if,  from  these  lofty  notions  as  well 
as  from  a  burning  patriotism,  you  will  form  the  high 
resolve  to  annihilate  this  dishonour  of  humanity ;  if 
you  loathe  its  sophisms,  '  De  minimis  non  curat  lex,' 
and  '  Malitia  supplet  astatem,'  and  '  Tres  faciunt  colle- 
gium,' and  '  Impotentia  excusat  legem,'  and  '  Possession 
is  nine  parts  of  the  law,'  and  '  The  greater  the  truth,  the 


CO  UNT  PO  TEMKIN  A  ND  JOHN  B  ULL.        j  43 

greater  the  libel' — principles  which  sap  the  very  founda- 
tions of  morals  ;  if  you  wage  war  to  the  knife  with  its 
blighting  superstitions  of  primogeniture,  gavelkind, 
mortmain,  and  contingent  remainders  ;  if  you  detest, 
abhor,  and  adjure  the  tortuous  maxims  .and  perfidious 
provisions  of  its  habeas  corpus,  quare  impedit,  and  qui 
tarn  (hear,  hear)  ;  if  you  scorn  the  mummeries  of  its  wigs 
and  bands,  and  coifs,  and  ermine  (vehement  cheering)  ; 
if  you  trample  and  spit  upon  its  accursed  fee  simple 
and  fee  tail,  villanage,  and  free  soccage,  fiefs,  he  riots, 
seizins,  feuds  (a  burst  of  cheers,  the  whole  meeting  in 
commotion)  ;  its  shares,  its  premiums,  its  post-obits,  its 
precentages,  its  tariffs,  its  broad  and  narrow  gauge" 
— Here  the  cheers  became  frantic,  and  drowned  the 
speaker's  voice,  and  a  most  extraordinary  scene  of 
enthusiasm  followed.  One  half  of  the  meeting  was  seen 
embracing  the  other  half  ;  till,  as  if  by  the  force  of  a 
sudden  resolution,  they  all  poured  out  of  the  square, 
and  proceeded  to  break  the  windows  of  all  the  British 
residents.  They  then  formed  into  procession,  and 
directing  their  course  to  the  great  square  before  the 
Kremlin,  they  dragged  through  the  mud,  and  then 
solemnly  burnt,  an  effigy  of  John  Bull  which  had  been 
provided  beforehand  by  the  managing  committee,  a  lion 
and  unicorn,  and  a  Queen  Victoria.  These  being 
fully  consumed,  they  dispersed  quietly  ;  and  by  ten 
o'clock  at  night  the  streets  were  profoundly  still,  and 
the  silver  moon  looked  down  in  untroubled  lustre  on 
the  city  of  the  Czars. 

Now,  my  Brothers  of  the  Oratory,   I  protest  to  you 
my  full  conviction  that  I  have  not  caricatured  this  par- 


1 44         COUNT  PO TEMKIN  AJVD  JOHN  BULL. 

allel  at  all.  Were  I,  indeed,  skilled  in  legal  matters,  I 
could  have  made  it  far  more  natural,  plausible,  and 
complete  ;  but,  as  for  its  extravagance,  I  say  delib- 
erately, and  have  means  of  knowing  what  I  say, 
having  once  been  a  Protestant,  and  being  now  a  Cath- 
olic— knowing  what  is  said  and  thought  of  Catholics, 
on  the  one  hand,  and,  on  the  other,  knowing  what  they 
really  are— I  deliberately  assert  that  no  absurdities  con- 
tained in  the  above  sketch  can  equal — nay,  that  no 
conceivable  absurdities  can  surpass — the  absurdities 
which  are  firmly  believed  of  Catholics  by  sensible, 
kind-hearted,  well-intentioned  Protestants.  Such  is 
the  consequence  of  having  looked  at  things  all  on  one 
side,  and  shutting  the  eyes  to  the  other. — Present 
Position  of  Catholics  in  England^  ed.  1889,  pp.  24-41 


Bnglican 

The  Establishment  is  the  keeper  in  ordinary  of  those 
national  types  and  blocks  from  which  Popery  is  ever 
to  be  printed  off, — of  the  traditional  view  of  every  Cath- 
olic doctrine,  the  traditional  account  of  every  ecclesias- 
tical event,  the  traditional  lives  of  popes  and  bishops, 
abbots  and  monks,  saints  and  confessors, — the  tradi- 
tional fictions,  sophisms,  calumnies,  mockeries,  sar- 
casms and  invectives  with  which  Catholics  are  to  be 
assailed. 

This,  I  say,  is  the  special  charge  laid  upon  the  Es- 
tablishment. Unitarians,  Sabellians,  Utilitarians,  Wes- 
leyans,  Calvinists,  Swedenborgians,  Irvingites,  Free- 
thinkers, all  these  it  can  tolerate  in  its  very  bosom  ;  no 
form  of  opinion  comes  amiss  ;  but  Rome  it  cannot  abide. 
It  agrees  to  differ  with  its  own  children  on  a  thousand 
points,  one  is  sacred — that  her  Majesty  the  Queen  is 
"  The  Mother  and  Mistress  of  all  Churches  ;  "  on  one 
dogma  it  is  infallible,  on  one  it  may  securely  insist  with- 
out fear  of  being  unseasonable  or  excessive — that "  the 
Bishop  of  Rome  hath  no  jurisdiction  in  this  realm." 
Here  is  sunshine  amid  the  darkness,  sense  amid  confu- 
sion, an  intelligible  strain  amid  a  Babel  of  sounds  ;  what- 
ever befalls,  here  is  sure  footing ;  it  is,  "  No  peace  with 
Rome,"  "  Down  with  the  Pope,"  and  "  The  Church  in 
10  145 


146  THE  ANGLICAN  CLERGY. 

danger."  Never  has  the  Establishment  failed  in  the 
use  of  these  important  and  effective  watchwords  ;  many 
are  its  shortcomings,  but  it  is  without  reproach  in  the 
execution  of  this  its  special  charge.  Heresy,  and  scep- 
ticism, and  infidelity,  and  fanaticism,  may  challenge  it 
in  vain  ;  but  fling  upon  the  gale  the  faintest  whisper  of 
Catholicism,  and  it  recognizes  by  instinct  the  presence 
of  its  connatural  foe.  Forthwith,  as  during  the  last  year, 
the  atmosphere  is  tremulous  with  agitation,  and  dis- 
charges its  vibrations  far  and  wide.  A  movement  is  in 
birth  which  has  no  natural  crisis  or  resolution.  Spon- 
taneously the  bells  of  the  steeples  begin  to  sound.  Not 
by  an  act  of  volition,  but  by  a  sort  of  mechanical  im- 
pulse, bishop  and  dean,  archdeacon  and  canon,  rector 
and  curate,  one  after  another,  each  on  his  high  tower, 
off  they  set,  swinging  and  booming,  tolling  and  chiming, 
with  nervous  intenseness,  and  thickening  emotion,  and 
deepening  volume,  the  old  ding-dong  which  has  scared 
town  and  country  this  weary  time  ;  tolling  and  chiming 
away,  jingling  and  clamouring  and  ringing  the  changes 
on  their  poor  half-dozen  notes,  all  about  "  the  Popish 
aggression,"  "  insolent  and  insidious,"  "  insidious  and 
insolent,"  "  insolent  and  atrocious,"'"  atrocious  and  in- 
solent," atrocious,  insolent,  and  ungrateful,"  "  ungrate- 
ful, insolent,  and  atrocious,"  "  foul  and  offensive,"  "  pes- 
tilent and  horrid, "  "subtle  and  unholy,"  "audacious 
and  revolting,"  "  contemptible  and  shameless,"  "ma- 
lignant," "  frightful,"  "  mad,"  "  meretricious,"— bobs  (I 
think  the  ringers  call  them),  bobs,  and  bobs-royal,  and 
triple-bob-majors,  and  grandsires, — to  the  extent  of 
their  compass  and  the  full  ring  of  their  metal,  in  hon- 
our of  Queen  Bess,  and  to  the  confusion  of  the  Holy 


THE  ANGLICAN  CLERGY.  147 

Father  and  the  Princes  of  the  Church.1 — Present  Posi- 
tion of  Catholics  in  England,  ed.  1889,  pp.  75-77 
(1851). 

1  The  foregoing  lecture  in  1851  was,  by  an  accidental  coinci- 
dence, written  simultaneously  with  an  able  pamphlet  by  Serjeant 
Bellasis,  apropos  of  the  conduct  of  the  Anglican  clergy  of  the  day. 


tTbe  Cells  in  tbe  3Bfrmingbam  ©raters; 

Two  of  my  instances  are  despatched,  and  now  I 
come  to  my  third.  There  is  something  so  tiresome  in 
passing  abruptly  from  one  subject  to  another,  that  I 
need  your  indulgence,  my  Brothers,  in  making  this  third 
beginning ;  yet  it  has  been  difficult  to  avoid  it,  when 
my  very  object  is  to  show  what  extensive  subject- 
matters  and  what  different  classes  of  the  community 
are  acted  on  by  the  Protestant  Tradition.  Now,  I  am 
proceeding  to  the  Legislature  of  the  Nation,  and  will 
give  an  instance  of  its  operation  in  a  respectable 
political  party. 

In  this  case,  its  fountain  springs  up,  as  it  were, 
under  our  very  feet,  and  we  shall  have  no  difficulty  at 
all  in  judging  of  its  quality.  Its  history  is  as  fol- 
lows : — Coaches,  omnibuses,  carriages,  and  cars,  day 
after  day  drive  up  and  down  the  Hagley  Road ;  pas- 
sengers lounge  to  and  fro  on  the  footpath ;  and  close 
alongside  of  it  are  discovered  one  day  the  nascent 
foundations  and  rudiments  of  a  considerable  building. 
On  inquiring,  it  is  found  to  be  intended  for  a  Catholic, 
nay,  even  for  a  monastic  establishment.  This  leads  to 
a  good  deal  of  talk,  especially  when  the  bricks  begin 
to  show  above  the  surface.  Meantime  the  unsuspect- 
ing architect  is  taking  his  measurements,  and  ascer- 
tains that  *the  ground  is  far  from  lying  level ;  and  then, 
148 


THE  BIRMINGHAM  CELLS.  149 

since  there  is  a  prejudice  among  Catholics  in  favor  of 
horizontal  floors,  he  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
bricks  of  the  basement  must  rise  above  the  surface 
higher  at  one  end  of  the  building  than  at  the 
other ;  in  fact,  that  whether  he  will  or  no,  there 
must  be  some  construction  of  the  nature  of  a  vault  or 
cellar  at  the  extremity  in  question,  a  circumstance  not 
at  all  inconvenient,  considering  it  also  happens  to 
be  the  kitchen  end  of  the  building.  Accordingly,  he 
turns  his  necessity  into  a  gain,  and  by  the  excavation 
of  a  few  feet  of  earth,  he  forms  a  number  of  chambers 
convenient  for  various  purposes,  partly  beneath,  partly 
above  the  line  of  the  ground.  While  he  is  thus  intent 
on  his  work,  loungers,  gossipers,  alarmists  are  busy  at 
theirs  too.  They  go  round  the  building,  they  peep 
into  the  underground  brickwork,  and  are  curious  about 
the  drains ;  *  they  moralize  about  Popery  and  its 

*  It  is  undeniable,  though  the  gentleman  who  has  brought  the 
matter  before  the  public  has  accidentally  omitted  to  mention  it, 
that  the  Protestant  feeling  has  also  been  excited  by  the  breadth 
of  the  drain,  which  is  considered  excessive,  and  moreover  crosses 
the  road.  There  exists  some  nervousness  on  the  subject  in  the 
neighbourhood,  as  I  have  been  seriously  given  to  understand. 
There  is  a  remarkable  passage,  too,  in  the  scientific  report,  which 
our  accuser  brings  forward,  and  which  has  never  been  answered 
or  perhaps  construed  :  "  One  of  the  compartments  was  larger 
than  the  rest,  and  was  evidently  to  be  covered  in  without  the  build- 
ing over  it."  This  is  not  the  first  time  a  dwelling  of  mine 
has  been  the  object  of  a  mysterious  interest.  When  our  cottages 
at  Littlemore  were  in  course  of  preparation,  they  were  visited  on 
horseback  and  on  foot  by  many  of  the  most  distinguished  resi- 
dents of  the  University  of  Oxford.  Heads  of  houses  and  canons 
did  not  scruple  to  investigate  the  building  within  and  without, 
and  some  of  them  went  so  far  as  to  inspect  and  theorize  upon  the 


150  THE  BIRMINGHAM  CELLS. 

spread ;  at  length  they  trespass  upon  the  enclosure, 
they  dive  into  the  half-finished  shell,  and  they  take 
their  fill  of  seeing  what  is  to  be  seen,  and  imagining 
what  is  not.  Every  house  is  built  on  an  idea ;  you  do 
not  build  a  mansion  like  a  public  office,  or  a  palace 
like  a  prison,  or  a  factory  like  a  shooting-box,  or  a 
church  like  a  barn.  Religious  houses,  in  like  manner, 
have  their  own  idea  ;  they  have  certain  indispensable 
peculiarities  of  form  and  internal  arrangement. 
Doubtless,  there  was  much  in  the  very  idea  of  an 
Oratory  perplexing  to  the  Protestant  intellect,  and 
inconsistent  with  Protestant  notions  of  comfort  and 
utility.  Why  should  so  large  a  room  be  here  ?  why  so 
small  a  room  there  ?  why  a  passage  so  long  and  wide  ? 
and  why  so  long  a  wall  without  a  window  ?  the  very 
size  of  the  house  needs  explanation.  Judgments  which 
had  employed  themselves  on  the  high  subject  of  a 
Catholic  hierarchy  and  its  need,  found  no  difficulty  in 
dogmatizing  on  bedrooms  and  closets.  There  was 
much  to  suggest  matter  of  suspicion,  and  to  predispose 
the  trespasser  to  doubt  whether  he  had  yet  got  to  the 
bottom  of  the  subject.  At  length  one  question  flashed 
upon  his  mind :  what  can  such  a  house  have  to  do 
with  cellars  ?  cellars  and  monks,  what  can  be  their  mu- 
tual relations  ?  monks — to  what  possible  use  can  they 
put  pits,  and  holes,  and  corners,  and  outhouses,  and 
sheds  ?  A  sensation  was  created ;  it  brought  other 
visitors  ;  it  spread  ;  it  became  an  impression,  a  belief ; 
the  truth  lay  bare  ;  a  tradition  was  born ;  a  fact  was 

most  retired  portions  of  the  premises.  Perhaps  some  thirty  years 
hence,  in  some  "  History  of  my  own  Times,"  speculations  maybe 
found  on  the  subject,  in  aid  of  the  Protestant  Tradition. 


THE  BIRMINGHAM  CELLS,  15! 

elicited  which  henceforth  had  many  witnesses.  Those 
cellars  were  cells.  How  obvious  when  once  stated ! 
and  every  one  who  entered  the  building,  every  one 
who  passed  by,  became,  I  say,  in  some  sort,  ocular 
vouchers  for  what  had  often  been  read  of  in  books,  but 
for  many  generations  had  happily  been  unknown  to 
England,  for  the  incarcerations,  the  torturings,  the 
starvings,  the  immurings,  the  murderings  proper  to  a 
monastic  establishment. 

Now  I  am  tempted  to  stop  for  a  while  in  order  to 
improve  (as  the  evangelical  pulpits  call  it)  this  most 
memorable  discovery.  I  will  therefore  briefly  con- 
sider it  under  the  heads  of — i.  THE  ACCUSATION  ;  2. 

ITS  GROUNDS  ;    3.  THE  ACCUSERS  ;    and,  4.  THE  ACCUSED. 

First. — THE  ACCUSATION. — It  is  this, — that  the 
Catholics,  building  the  house  in  question,  were  in  the 
practice  of  committing  murder.  This  was  so  strictly 
the  charge,  that,  had  the  platform  selected  for  making 
it  been  other  than  we  know  it  to  have  been,  I  suppose 
the  speaker  might  have  been  indicted  for  libel.  His 
words  were  these  : — It  was  not  usual  for  a  coroner  to 
hold  an  inquest,  unless  where  a  rumour  had  got  abroad 
that  there  was  a  necessity  for  one ;  and  how  was  a 
rumor  to  come  from  the  underground  cells  of  the 
convents  ?  Yes,  he  repeated,  underground  cells  :  and 
he  would  tell  them  something  about  such  places.  At 
this  moment,  in  the  parish  of  Edgbaston,  within  the 
borough  of  Birmingham,  there  was  a  large  convent,  of 
some  kind  or  other,  being  erected,  and  the  whole  of 
the  underground  was  fitted  up  with  cells  ;  and  what 
were  those  cells  for  ?  " 

Secondly. — THE   GROUNDS   OF  THE  ACCUSATION. — 


152  THE  BIRMINGHAM  CELLS. 

They  are  simple  ;  behold  them  :  i.  That  the  house  is 
built  level ;  2.  and  that  the  plot  of  earth  on  which  it 
is  built  is  higher  at  one  end  than  at  the  other. 

Thirdly. — THE  ACCUSERS. — This,  too,  throws  light 
upon  the  character  of  Protestant  traditions.  Not 
weak  and  ignorant  people  only,  not  people  at  a  dis- 
tance— but  educated  men,  gentlemen  well  connected, 
high  in  position,  men  of  business,  men  of  character, 
members  of  the  legislature,  men  familiar  with  the  lo- 
cality, men  who  know  the  accused  by  name, — such  are 
the  men  who  deliberately,  reiteratedly,  in  spite  of 
being  set  right,  charge  certain  persons  with  pitiless, 
savage  practices ;  with  beating  and  imprisoning,  with 
starving,  with  murdering  their  dependents. 

Fourthly. — THE  ACCUSED. — I  feel  ashamed,  my, 
Brothers,  of  bringing  my  own  matters  before  you . 
when  far  better  persons  have  suffered  worse  imputa- 
tions ;  but  bear  with  me.  /then  am  the  accused.  A 
gentleman  of  blameless  character,  a  county  member, 
with  whose  near  relatives  I  have  been  on  terms  of 
almost  fraternal  intimacy  for  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
who  knows  me  by  repute  far  more  familiarly  (I  sup- 
pose) than  any  one  in  this  room  knows  me,  putting 
aside  my  personal  friends ;  he  it  is  who  charges  me, 
and  others  like  me,  with  delighting  in  blood,  with  en- 
joying the  shrieks  and  groans  of  agony  and  despair, 
with  presiding  at  a  banquet  of  dislocated  limbs, 
quivering  muscles,  and  wild  countenances.  Oh,  what 
a  world  is  this  !  Could  he  look  into  our  eyes  and  say 
it  ?  Would  he  have  the  heart  to  say  it,  if  he  recol- 
lected of  whom  he  said  it  ?  For  who  are  we  ?  Have 
we  lived  in  a  corner  ?  have  we  come  to  light  suddenly 


THE  BIRMINGHAM  CELLS.  153 

out  of  the  earth  ?  We  have  been  nourished,  for  the 
greater  part  of  our  lives,  in  the  bosom  of  the  great 
schools  and  universities  of  Protestant  England:  we 
have  been  the  foster  sons  of  the  Edwards  and  Henries, 
the  Wykehams  and  Wolseys,  of  whom  Englishmen  are 
wont  to  make  much  ;  we  have  grown  up  amid  hun- 
dreds of  contemporaries,  scattered  at  present  all  over 
the  country,  in  those  special  ranks  of  society  which 
are  the  very  walk  of  a  member  of  the  legislature.  Our 
names  are  better  known  to  the  educated  classes  of  the 
country  than  those  of  any  others  who  are  not  public 
men.  Moreover,  if  there  be  men  in  the  whole  world 
who  may  be  said  to  live  in  publico,  it  is  the  members 
of  a  College  at  one  of  our  Universities  ;  living,  not  in 
private  houses,  not  in  families,  but  in  one  or  two 
apartments  which  are  open  to  all  the  world,  at  all 
hours,  with  nothing,  I  may  say,  their  own ;  with  col- 
lege servants,  a  common  table, — nay,  their  chairs  and 
their  bedding,  and  their  cups  and  saucers,  down  to 
their  coal-scuttle  and  their  carpet  brooms, — a  sort  of 
common  property,  and  the  right  of  their  neighbours. 
Such  is  that  manner  of  life, — in  which  nothing,  I  may 
say,  can  be  hid ;  where  no  trait  of  character  or  peculi- 
arity of  conduct  but  comes  to  broad  day — such  is  the 
life  I  myself  led  for  above  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
under  the  eyes  of  numbers  who  are  familiarly  known 
to  my  accusers  ;  such  is  almost  the  life  which  we  all 
have  led  ever  since  we  have  been  in  Birmingham,  with 
our  house  open  to  all  comers,  and  ourselves  accessible, 
I  may  almost  say  at  any  hour ;  and  this  being  so,  con- 
sidering the  charge,  and  the  evidence,  and  the  accuser, 
and  the  accused,  could  we  Catholics  desire  a  more  ap- 


154  THE  BIRMINGHAM  CELLS. 

posite  illustration  of  the  formation  and  the  value  of  a 
-  Protestant  Tradition  ?  " 

I  set  it  down  for  the  benefit  of  time  to  come; 
"  though  for  no  other  cause,"  as  a  great  author  says, 
"  yet  for  this :  that  posterity  may  know  we  have  not 
loosely,  through  silence,  permitted  things  to  pass  away 
as  in  a  dream,  there  shall  be  for  men's  information  ex- 
tant thus  much."  One  commonly  forgets  such  things, 
from  the  trouble  and  inconvenience  of  having  to 
remember  them  ;  let  one  specimen  last,  of  many  which 
have  been  suffered  to  perish,  of  the  birth  of  an  anti- 
Catholic  tradition.  The  nascent  fable  has  indeed 
failed,  as  the  tale  about  the  Belgian  sin-table  has 
failed,  but  it  might  have  thriven  :  it  has  been  lost  by 
bad  nursing ;  it  ought  to  have  been  cherished  awhile 
in  those  underground  receptacles  where  first  it  drew 
breath, 'till  it  could  comfortably  bear  the  light;  till  its 
limbs  were  grown,  and  its  voice  was  strong,  and  we  on 
whom  it  bore  had  run  our  course,  and  gone  to  our  ac- 
count ;  and  then  it  might  have  raised  its  head  with- 
out fear  and  without  reproach,  and  might  have  magis- 
terially asserted  what  there  was  none  to  deny.  But 
men  are  all  the  creatures  of  circumstances ;  they  are 
hurried  on  to  a  ruin  which  they  may  see,  but  cannot 
evade  :  so  has  it  been  with  the  Edgbaston  Tradition. 
It  was  spoken  on  the  house-tops  when  it  should  have 
been  whispered  in  closets,  and  it  expired  in  the  effort. 
Yet  it  might  have  been  allotted,  let  us  never  forget, 
a  happier  destiny.  It  might  have  smouldered  and 
spread  through  a  portion  of  our  Birmingham  popu- 
lation ;  it  might  have  rested  obscurely  on  their  memo- 
ries, ofid  now  and  then  risen  upon  their  tongues ;  there 


THE  BIRMINGHAM  CELLS.  155 

might  have  been  flitting  notions,  misgivings,  rumours, 
voices,  that  the  horrors  of  the  Inquisition  were  from 
time  to  time  renewed  in  our  subterranean  chambers  ; 
and  fifty  years  hence,  if  some  sudden  frenzy  of  the 
hour  roused  the  anti-Catholic  jealousy  still  lingering 
in  the  town,  a  mob  might  have  swarmed  about  our 
innocent  dwelling,  to  rescue  certain  legs  of  mutton 
and  pats  of  butter  from  imprisonment,  and  to  hold  an 
inquest  over  a  dozen  packing-cases,  some  old  hampers, 
a  knife-board,  and  a  range  of  empty  blacking  bottles. 

Thus  I  close  my  third  instance  of  the  sort  of  evi- 
dence commonly  adducible  for  the  great  Protestant 
Tradition  ;  not  the  least  significant  circumstance  about 
them  all  being  this,  that  though  in  the  case  of  all  three 
that  evidence  is  utterly  disproved,  yet  in  not  one  of 
the  three  is  the  charge  founded  on  it  withdrawn.  In 
spite  of  Dr.  Waddington,  Dr.  Maitland,  and  Mr.  Rose, 
the  editors  of  Mosheim  still  print  and  publish  his 
slander  on  St.  Eligius ;  in  defiance  of  the  Brussels 
protest,  and  the  chair  tariff  of  St.  Gudule,  the  Kent 
clergyman  and  the  Times  still  bravely  maintain  our 
traffic  in  sins ;  in  violence  to  the  common  sense  of 
mankind,  the  rack  and  the  pulley  are  still  affirmed  to 
be  busy  in  the  dungeons  of  Edgbaston ; — for  Pro- 
testantism must  be  maintained  as  the  Religion  of  Eng- 
lishmen, and  part  and  parcel  of  the  Law  of  the  land. — 
Present  Position  of  Catholics,  ed.  1889,  pp.  118-125 
(1851). 


156  CATHOLIC  FIRST 


Catbolfc  fftrst  principled. 

Now  I  have  come  to  the  point  at  which  the  mainte- 
nance of  private  opinion  runs  into  bigotry.  As  Prejudice 
is  the  rejection  of  reason  altogether,  so  Bigotry  is  the  im- 
position of  private  reason, — that  is  of  our  own  views  and 
theories  of  our  own  First  Principles,  as  if  they  were  the 
absolute  truth,  and  the  standard  of  all  argument,  inves- 
tigation, and  judgment.  If  there  are  any  men  in  the 
world  who  ought  to  abstain  from  bigotry,  it  is  Protest- 
ants. They,  whose  very  badge  is  the  right  of  private 
judgment  should  give  as  well  as  take,should  allow  others 
what  they  claim  themselves  ;  but  I  am  sorry  to  say,  as  I 
have  had  occasion  to  say  again  and  again,  there  is  very 
little  of  the  spirit  of  reciprocity  among  them  ;  they  mono- 
polize a  liberty  which,  when  they  set  out,  they  professed 
was  to  be  for  the  benefit  of  all  parties.  Not  even  the  intel- 
lectual, not  even  the  candid-minded  among  them,are  free 
from  inconsistency  here.  They  begin  by  setting  up 
principles  of  thought  and  action  for  themselves  ;  then, 
not  content  with  applying  them  to  their  own  thoughts 
and  actions,  they  make  them  the  rule  for  criticising  and 
condemning  our  thoughts  and  actions  too  ;  this,  I  repeat, 
is  Bigotry.  Bigotry  is  the  infliction  of  our  own  unproved 
First  Principles  on  others,  and  the  treating  others  with 
scorn  or  hatred  for  not  accepting  them.  There  are 
principles,  indeed,  as  I  have  already  said,  such  as  the 


CA  T HO LIC  FIRST  PRINCIPLES.  1 5  7 

First  Principles  of  morals,  not  peculiar  or  proper  to  the 
individual,  but  the  rule  of  the  world,  because  they  come 
from  the  Author  of  our  being,  and  from  no  private  fac- 
tory of  man.  It  is  not  bigotry  to  despise  intemperance  ; 
it  is  not  bigotry  to  hate  injustice  or  cruelty  ;  but  what- 
everts  local,  or  national,  or  sectional,  or  personal,  or 
novel,  and  nothing  more,  to  make  that  the  standard  of 
judging  all  existing  opinions,  without  an  attempt  at 
proving  it  to  be  of  authority,  is  mere  ridiculous  bigotry. 
" 'In  necessariis  rtnitas,  in  dubiis  liber tas"  is  ever  the  rule 
of  a  true  philosopher.  And  though  I  know  in  many 
cases  it  is  very  difficult  to  draw  the  line,  and  to  decide 
what  principles  are,  and  what  are  not,  independent  of 
individuals,  times  and  places,  eternal  and  divine,  yet  so 
far  we  may  safely  assert, — that  when  the  very  persons 
who  hold  certain  views,  confess,  nay,  boast,  nay,  are 
jealously  careful,  that  those  views  come  of  their  own 
private  judgment,  they  at  least  should  be  as  jealous  and 
as  careful  to  keep  them  to  their  own  place,  and  not  to 
use  them  as  if  they  came  distinctly  from  heaven,  or 
from  the  nature  of  things,  or  from  the  nature  of  man. 
Those  persons,  surely,  are  precluded,  if  they  would  be 
consistent,  from  using  their  principles  as  authoritative, 
who  proclaim  that  they  made  them  for  themselves. 
Protestants,  then,  if  any  men  alive,  are,  on  their  own 
showing,  bigots,  if  they  set  up  their  First  Principles  as 
oracles  and  as  standards  of  all  truth. 

This  being  considered,  have  we  not,  my  Brothers,  a 
curious  sight  before  us  ?  This  is  what  we  call  an  en- 
lightened age :  we  are  to  have  large  views  of  things ; 
everything  is  to  be  put  on  a  philosophical  basis  ;  rea- 
son is  to  rule  :  the  world  is  to  begin  again  ;  a  new  and 


158  CATHOLIC  FIRST  PRINCIPLES. 

transporting  set  of  views  is  about  to  be  exhibited  to 
the  great  human  family.  Well  and  good  ;  have  them, 
preach  them,  enjoy  them,  but  deign  to  recollect  the 
while,  that  there  have  been  views  in  the  world  before 
you ;  that  the  world  has  not  been  going  on  up  to  this  day 
without  any  principles  whatever  ;  that  the  Old  Religion 
was  based  on  principles,  and  that  it  is  not  enough  to 
flourish  about  your  "  new  lamps,"  if  you  would  make 
us  give  up  our  "  old  "  ones.  Catholicism,  I  say,  had 
its  First  Principles  before  you  were  born  :  you  say  they 
are  false  ;  very  well,  prove  them  to  be  so  :  they  are  false, 
indeed,  if  yours  are  true ;  but  not  false  merely  because 
yours  are  yours.  While  yours  are  yours  it  is  self-evi- 
dent, indeed,  to  you,  that  ours  are  false  ;  but  it  is  not 
the  common  way  of  carrying  on  business  in  the  world, 
to  value  English  goods  by  French  measures,  or  to  pay 
a  debt  in  paper  which  was  contracted  in  gold.  Cathol- 
icism has  its  First  Principles,  overthrow  them,  if  you 
can ;  endure  them,  if  you  cannot.  It  is  not  enough  to 
call  them  effete  because  they  are  old,  or  antiquated  be- 
cause they  are  ancient.  It  is  not  enough  to  look  into 
our  churches,  and  cry,  "  It  is  all  a  form,  because  divine 
favour  cannot  depend  on  external  observances ;  "  or,  "  It 
is  all  a  bondage,  because  there  is  no  such  thing  as  sin  ;  " 
or,  "  a  blasphemy,  because  the  Supreme  Being  cannot  be 
present  in  ceremonies ;  "  or,  "  a  mummery,  because  pray- 
er cannot  move  Him  ;  "  or,  "  a  tyranny,  because  vows 
are  unnatural ;  "  or,  "  hypocrisy,  because  no  rational 
man  can  credit  it  at  all."  I  say  here  is  endless  assump- 
tion, unmitigated  hypothesis,  reckless  assertion  ;  prove 
your  "  because,"  "because,"  "because;"  prove  your 
First  Principles,  and  if  you  cannot,  learn  philosophic 


CA  THOLTC  FIRST  PRINCIPLES.  1 59 

moderation.  Why  may  not  my  First  Principles  contest 
the  prize  with  yours  ?  they  have  been  longer  in  the 
world ;  they  have  lasted  longer,  they  have  done  harder 
work,  they  have  seen  rougher  service.  You  sit  in  your 
easy-chairs,  you  dogmatize  in  your  lecture-rooms,  you 
wield  your  pens  :  it  all  looks  well  on  paper  :  you  write 
exceedingly  well  :  there  never  was  an  age  in  which 
there  was  better  writing ;  logical,  nervous,  eloquent, 
and  pure, — go  and  carry  it  all  out  in  the  world.  Take 
your  First  Principles,  of  which  you  are  so  proud,  into 
the  crowded  streets  of  our  cities,  into  the  formidable 
classes  which  make  up  the  bulk  of  our  population  ;  try 
to  work  society  by  them.  You  think  you  can  ;  I  say 
you  cannot — at  least  you  have  not  as  yet ;  it  is  yet  to 
be  seen  if  you  can.  "  Let  not  him  that  putteth  on  his 
armour  boast  as  he  who  taketh  it  off."  Do  not  take  it 
for  granted  that  that  is  certain  which  is  waiting  the 
test  of  reason  and  experiment.  Be  modest  until  you 
are  victorious.  My  principles,  which  I  believe  to  be 
eternal,  have  at  least  lasted  eighteen  hundred  years ; 
let  yours  live  as  many  months.  That  man  can  sin, 
that  he  has  duties,  that  the  Divine  Being  hears  prayer, 
that  He  gives  His  favours  through  visible  ordinances, 
that  He  is  really  present  in  the  midst  of  them,  these 
principles  have  been  the  life  of  nations  ;  they  have 
shown  they  could  be  carried  out ;  let  any  single  nation 
carry  out  yours,  and  you  will  have  better  claim  to  speak 
contemptuously  of  Catholic  rites,  of  Catholic  devotions, 
of  Catholic  belief. — Present  Position  of  Catholics^  ed. 
1889,  pp.  291-5(1851). 


<Bo&,  tbe  TKHorl&,  tbc  Cburcb. 

STARTING  then  with  the  being  of  a  God,  (which,  as  I 
have  said,  is  as  certain  to  me  as  the  certainty  of  my 
own  existence,  though  when  I  try  to  put  the  grounds 
of  that  certainty  into  logical  shape  I  find  a  difficulty  in 
doing  so  in  mood  and  figure  to  my  satisfaction),  I  look 
out  of  myself  into  the  world  of  men,  and  there  I  see 
a  sight  which  fills  me  with  unspeakable  distress.  The 
world  seems  simply  to  give  the  lie  to  that  great  truth, 
of  which  my  whole  being  is  so  full ;  and  the  effect 
upon  me  is,  in  consequence,  as  a  matter  of  necessity, 
as  confusing  as  if  it  denied  that  I  am  in  existence  my- 
self. If  I  looked  into  a  mirror,  and  did  not  see  my 
face,  I  should  have  the  sort  of  feeling  which  actually 
comes  upon  me,  when  I  look  into  this  living  bus,y 
world,  and  see  no  reflection  of  its  Creator.  This  is, 
to  me,  one  of  those  great  difficulties  of  this  absolute 
primary  truth,  to  which  I  referred  just  now.  Were  it 
not  for  this  voice,  speaking  so  clearly  in  my  conscience 
and  my  heart,  I  should  be  an  atheist,  or  a  pantheist, 
or  a  polytheist  when  I  looked  into  th'e  world.  I  am 
speaking  for  myself  only  ;  and  I  am  far  from  denying 
the  real  force  of  the  arguments  in  proof  of  a  God, 
drawn  from  the  general  facts  of  human  society  and  the 
course  of  history,  but  these  do  not  warm  me  or  en- 


GOD,  THE  WORLD,  THE  CHURCH.      161 

lighten  me ;  they  do  not  take  away  the  winter  of  my 
desolation,  or  make  the  buds  unfold  and  the-  leaves 
grow  within  me,  and  my  moral  being  rejoice.  The 
sight  of  the  world  is  nothing  else  than  the  prophet's 
scroll,  full  of  "  lamentations,  and  mourning,  and 
woe." 

To  consider  the  world  in  its  length  and  breadth,  its 
various  history,  the  many  races  of  man,  their  starts, 
their  fortunes,  their  mutual  alienation,  their  conflicts ; 
and  then  their  ways,  habits,  governments,  forms  of 
worship  ;  their  enterprises,  their  aimless  courses,  their 
random  achievements  and  acquirements,  the  impotent 
Conclusion  of  long-standing  facts,  the  tokens  so  faint 
and  broken  of  a  superintending  design,  the  blind 
evolution  of  what  turn  out  to  be  great  powers  or  truths, 
the  progress  of  things,  as  if  from  unreasoning  elements, 
not  towards  final  causes,  the  greatness  and  littleness 
of  man,  his  far-reaching  aims,  his  short  duration,  the 
curtain  hung  over  his  futurity,  the  disappointments  of 
life,  the  defeat  of  good,  the  success  of  evil,  physical 
pain,  mental  anguish,  the  prevalence  and  intensity  of 
sin,  the  pervading  idolatries,  the  corruptions,  the  dreary 
hopeless  irreligion,  that  condition  of  the  whole  race,  so 
fearfully  yet  exactly  described  in  the  Apostle's  words, 
"  having  no  hope  and  without  God  in  the  world," — all 
this  is  a  vision  to  dizzy  and  appal ;  and  inflicts  upon 
the  mind  the  sense  of  a  profound  mystery,  which  is 
absolutely  beyond  human  solution. 

What  shall  be  said  to  this  heart-piercing,  reason- 
bewildering  fact  ?  I  can  only  answer,  that  either  there 
is  no  Creator,  or  this  living  society  of  men  is  in  a  true 
sense  discarded  from  His  presence,  Did  I  see  a  boy 
n 


162  GOD,  THE  WORLD,  THE  CHURCH. 

of  good  make  and  mind,  with  the  tokens  on  him  of  a 
refined  nature,  cast  upon  the  world  without  provision^ 
unable  to  say  whence  he  came,  his  birth-place  or  his 
family  connections,  I  should  conclude  that  there  was 
some  mystery  connected  with  his  history,  and  that  he 
was  one,  of  whom,  from  one  cause  or  other,  his  parents 
were  ashamed.  Thus  only  should  I  be  able  to  account 
for  the  contrast  between  the  promise  and  the  condition 
of  his  being.  And  so  I  argue  about  the  world  ; — if 
there  be  a  God,  since  there  is  a  God,  the  human  race 
is  implicated  in  some  terrible  aboriginal  calamity.  It 
is  out  of  joint  with  the  purposes  of  its  Creator.  This 
is  a  fact,  a  fact  as  true  as  the  fact  of  its  existence  ;  and 
thus  the  doctrine  of  what  is  theologically  called  original 
sin  becomes  to  me  almost  as  certain  as  that  the  world 
exists,  and  as  the  existence  of  God. 

And  now,  supposing  it  were  the  blessed  and  loving 
will  of  the  Creator  to  interfere  in  this  anarchical  con- 
dition of  things,  what  are  we  to  suppose  would  be  the 
methods  which  might  be  necessarily  or  naturally 
involved  in  His  purpose  of  mercy  ?  Since  the  world 
is  in  so  abnormal  a  state,  surely  it  would  be  no  surprise 
to  me,  if  the  interposition  were  of  necessity  equally 
extraordinary — or  what  is  called  miraculous.  But  that 
subject  does  not  directly  come  into  the  scope  of  my 
present  remarks.  Miracles  as  evidence,  involve  a 
process  of  reason,  or  an  argument ;  and  of  course  I  am 
thinking  of  some  mode  of  interference  which  does  not 
immediately  run  into  argument.  I  am  rather  asking 
what  must  be  the  face-to-face  antagonist,  by  which  to 
withstand  and  baffle  the  fierce  energy  of  passion  and 
the  all-corroding,  all-dissolving  scepticism  of  the  in- 


GOD,  THE  WORLD,  THE  CHURCH.      163 

tellect  in  religious  inquiries  ?  I  have  no  intention  at 
all  of  denying,  that  truth  is  the  real  object  of  our 
reason,  and  that,  if  it  does  not  attain  to  truth,  either 
the  premiss  or  the  process  is  in  fault ;  but  I  am  not 
speaking  here  of  right  reason,  but  of  reason  as  it  acts 
in  fact  and  concretely  in  fallen  man.  I  know  that  even 
the  unaided  reason,  when  correctly  exercised,  leads  to 
a  belief  in  God,  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  in 
a  future  retribution ;  but  I  am  considering  the  faculty 
of  reason  actually  and  historically  ;  and  in  this  point 
of  view,  I  do  not  think  I  am  wrong  in  saying  that  its 
tendency  is  towards  a  simple  unbelief  in  matters  of 
religion.  No  truth,  however  sacred,  can  stand  against 
it,  in  the  long  run  ;  and  hence  it  is  that  in  the  pagan 
world,  when  our  Lord  came,  the  last  traces  of  the 
religious  knowledge  of  former  times  were  all  but  disap- 
pearing from  those  portions  of  the  world  in  which  the 
intellect  had  been  active  and  had  had  a  career. 

And  in  these  latter  days,  in  like  manner,  outside  the 
Catholic  Church  things  are  tending, — with  far  greater 
rapidity  than  in  that  old  time  from  the  circumstance  of 
the  age, — to  atheism  in  one  shape  or  other.  What  a 
scene,  what  a  prospect,  does  the  whole  of  Europe 
present  at  this  day  !  and  not  only  Europe,  but  every 
government  and  every  civilization  through  the  world, 
which  is  under  the  influence  of  the  European  mind  ! 
Especially,  for  it  most  concerns  us,  how  sorrowful,  in 
the  view  of  religion,  even  taken  in  its  most  elementary, 
most  attenuated  form,  is  the  spectacle  presented  to 
us  by  the  educated  intellect  of  England,  France,  and 
Germany  !  Lovers  of  their  country  and  of  their  race, 
religious  men,  external  to  the  Catholic  Church,  have 


164  GOD,  THE  WORLD,  THE  CHURCH. 

attempted  various  expedients  to  arrest  fierce  wilful 
human  nature  in  its  onward  course,  and  to  bring  it  into 
subjection.  The  necessity  of  some  form  of  religion 
for  the  interests  of  humanity,  has  been  generally 
acknowledged  :  but  where  was  the  concrete  represent- 
ative of  things  invisible,  which  would  have  the  force 
and  the  toughness  necessary  to  be  a  breakwater  against 
the  deluge?  Three  centuries  ago  the  establishment 
of  religion,  material,  legal,  and  social,  was  generally 
adopted  as  the  best  expedient  for  the  purpose,  in  those 
countries  which  separated  from  the  Catholic  Church  ; 
and  for  a  long  time  it  was  successful ;  but  now  the 
crevices  of  those  establishments  are  admitting  the 
enemy.  Thirty  years  ago,  education  was  relied  upon  : 
ten  years  ago  there  was  a  hope  that  wars  would  cease 
forever,  under  the  influence  of  commercial  enterprise 
and  the  reign  of  the  useful  and  fine  arts ;  but  will  any 
one  venture  to  say  that  there  is  anything  anywhere 
on  this  earth,  which  will  afford  a  fulcrum  for  us,  where- 
by to  keep  the  earth  from  moving  onwards  ? 

The  judgment,  which  experience  passes  whether  on* 
establishments  or  on  education,  as  a  means  of  maintain- 
ing religious  truth  in  this  anarchical  world,  must  be 
extended  even  to  Scripture,  though  Scripture  be  divine. 
Experience  proves  surely  that  the  Bible  does  not 
answer  a  purpose  for  which  it  was  never  intended.  It 
may  be  accidentally  the  means  of  the  conversion  of 
individuals  ;  but  a  book,  after  all,  cannot  make  a  stand 
against  the  wild  living  intellect  of  man,  and  in  this 
day  it  begins  to  testify,  as  regards  its  own  structure 
and  contents,  to  the  power  of  that  universal  solvent, 


GOD,  THE  WORLD,  THE  CHURCH.  165 

which  is  so  successfully  acting  upon  religious  establish- 
ments. 

Supposing  then  it  to  be  the  Will  of  the  Creator  to  in- 
terfere in  human  affairs,  and  to  make  provisions  for 
retaining  in  the  world  a  knowledge  of  Himself,  so  defi- 
inite  and  distinct  as  to  be  proof  against  the  energy  of 
human  scepticism,  in  such  a  case, — I  am  far  from  say- 
ing that  there  was  no  other  way, — but  there  is  nothing 
to  surprise  the  mind,  if  He  should  think  fit  to  intro- 
duce a  power  into  the  world,  invested  with  the  prerog- 
ative of  infallibility  in  religious  matters.  Such  a  pro- 
vision would  be  a  direct,  immediate,  active,  and 
prompt  means  of  withstanding  the  difficulty ;  it  would 
be  an  instrument  suited  to  the  need  ;  and,  when  I  find 
that  this  is  the  very  claim  of  the  Catholic  Church  not 
only  do  I  feel  no  difficulty  in  admitting  the  idea,  but 
there  is  a  fitness  in  it,  which  recommends  it  to  my 
mind.  And  thus  I  am  brought  to  speak  of  the 
Church's  infallibility,  as  a  provision,  adapted  by  the 
mercy  of  the  Creator,  to  preserve  religion  in  the  world, 
and  to  restrain  that  freedom  of  thought,  which  of 
course  in  itself  is  one  of  the  greatest  of  our  natural 
gifts,  and  to  rescue  it  from  its  own  suicidal  excesses. 
And  let  it  be  observed  that,  neither  here  nor  in  what 
follows,  shall  I  have  occasion  to  speak  directly  of 
Revelation  in  its  subject-matter,  but  in  reference  to  the 
sanction  which  it  gives  to  truths  which  may  be  known 
independently  of  it, — as  it  bears  upon  the  defence  of 
natural  religion.  I  say,  that  a  power,  possessed  of 
infallibility  in  religious  teaching,  is  happily  adapted 
to  be  a  working  instrument,  in  the  course  of  human 
affairs,  for  smiting  hard  and  throwing  back  the  im- 


1 66  GOD,  THE  WORLD,  THE  CHURCH. 

mense  energy  of  the  aggressive,  capricious,  untrust- 
worthy intellect : — and  in  saying  this,  as  in  the  other 
things  that  I  have  to  say,  it  must  still  be  recollected 
that  I  am  all  along  bearing  in  mind  my  main  purpose, 
which  is  a  defence  of  myself. — Apologia,  ed.  1890, 
pp.  241-246  (1864). 


/IMractes. 

THE  Protestant,  I  say,  laughs  at  the  very  idea  of 
miracles  or  supernatural  acts  as  occurring  at  this  day ; 
his  First  Principle  is  rooted  in  him  ;  he  repels  from 
him  the  idea  of  miracles  ;  he  laughs  at  the  notion  of 
evidence  for  them ;  one  is  just  as  likely  as  another  ; 
they  are  all  false.  Why  ?  Because  of  his  First  Prin- 
ciple :  there  are  no  miracles  since  the  Apostles.  Here, 
indeed,  is  a  short  and  easy  way  of  getting  rid  of  the 
whole  subject,  not  by  reason,  but  by  a  First  Principle 
which  he  calls  reason.  Yes,  it  is  reason,  granting  his 
First  Principle  is  true ;  it  is  not  reason,  supposing  his 
First  Principle  is  false.  It  is  reason,  if  the  private 
judgment  of  an  individual,  or  of  a  sect,  or  of  a  philos- 
ophy, or  of  a  nation,  be  synonymous  with  reason  ;  it 
is  not  reason,  if  reason  is  something  not  local,  nor  tem- 
poral, but  universal.  Before  he  advances  a  step  in  his 
argument,  he  ought  to  prove  his  First  Principle  true ;  he 
does  not  attempt  to  do  so,  he  takes  it  for  granted  ;  and 
he  proceeds  to  apply  it,  gratuitous,  personal,  peculiar 
as  it  is,  to  all  our  accounts  of  miracles  taken  together, 
and  thereupon  and  thereby  triumphantly  rejects  them 
all.  This,  forsooth,  is  his  spontaneous  judgment,  his 
instinctive  feeling,  his  common  sense, — a  mere  private 
opinion  of  his  own,  a  Protestant  opinion  ;  a  lecture- 
room  opinion  ;  not  a  world-wide  opinion,  not  an  in- 


1 68  MIRACLES. 

stinct  ranging  through  time  and  space,  but  an  assump- 
tion and  presumption,  which,  by  education  and  habit, 
he  has  got  to  think  as  certain,  as  much  of  an  axiom,  as 
that  two  and  two  make  four ;  and  he  looks  down  upon 
us,  and  bids  us  consider  ourselves  beaten,  all  because 
the  savour  of  our  statements  and  narratives  and  reports 
and  legends  is  inconsistent  with  his  delicate  Protestant 
sense, — all  because  our  conclusions  are  different,  not 
from  our  principles  and  premisses,  but  from  his. 

And  now  for  the  structure  he  proceeds  to  raise  on 
this  foundation  of  sand.  If,  he  argues,  in  matter  of 
fact,  there  be  a  host  of  stories  about  relics  and  mir- 
acles circulated  in  the  Catholic  Church,  which,  as  a 
matter  of  First  Principle,  cannot  be  true ;  to  what  must 
we  attribute  them  ?  indubitably  to  enormous  stupidity 
on  the  one  hand,  and  enormous  roguery  on  the  other. 
This,  observe,  is  an  immediate  and  close  inference  : — 
clever  men  must  see  through  the  superstition  ;  those 
who  do  not  see  through  it  must  be  dolts.  Further, 
since  religion  is  the  subject-matter  of  the  alleged 
fictions,  they  must  be  what  are  called  pious  frauds,  for 
the  sake  of  gain  and  power.  Observe,  my  Brothers, 
there  is  in  the  Church  a  vast  tradition  and  testimony 
about  miracles  :  how  is  it  to  be  accounted  for  ?  If 
miracles  can  take  place,  then  the  truth  of  the  miracle 
will  be  a  natural  explanation  of  the  report,  just  as  the 
fact  of  a  man  dying  satisfactorily  accounts  for  the 
news  that  he  is  dead  ;  but  the  Protestant  cannot  so  ex- 
plain it,  because  he  thinks  miracles  cannot  take  place  ; 
so  he  is  necessarily  driven,  by  way  of  accounting  for 
the  report  of  them,  to  impute  that  report  to  fraud.  He 
cannot  help  himself.  I  repeat  it ;  the  whole  mass  of 


MIRACLES.  169 

accusations  which  Protestants  bring  against  us  under 
this  head,  Catholic  credulity,  imposture,  pious  frauds, 
hypocrisy,  priestcraft,  this  vast  and  varied  superstruc- 
ture of  imputation,  you  see,  all  rests  on  an  assump- 
tion, on  an  opinion  of  theirs,  for  which  they  offer  no 
kind  of  proof.  What  then,  in  fact,  do  they  say  more 
than  this,  ^"Protestantism  be  true,  you  Catholics  are  a 
most  awful  set  of  knaves  ? — Here,  at  least,  is  a  most  in- 
telligible and  undeniable  position. 

Now,  on  the  other  hand,  let  me  take  our  own  side 
of  the  question,  and  consider  how  we  ourselves  stand 
relatively  to  the  charge  made  against  us.  Catholics, 
then,  hold  the  mystery  of  the  Incarnation ;  and  the 
Incarnation  is  the  most  stupendous  event  which  ever 
can  take  place  on  earth  ;  and  after  it  and  hence- 
forth, I  do  not  see  how  we  can  scruple  at  any  miracle 
on  the  mere  ground  of  its  being  unlikely  to  happen. 
No  miracle  can  be  so  great  as  that  which  took  place 
in  the  Holy  House  of  Nazareth ;  it  is  indefinitely 
more  difficult  to  believe  than  all  the  miracles  of  the 
Breviary,  of  the  Martyrology,  of  Saints'  lives,  of 
legends,  of  local  traditions,  put  together ;  and  there  is 
the  grossest  inconsistency  on  the  very  face  of  the 
matter,  for  any  one  so  to  strain  out  the  gnat  and  to 
swallow  the  camel,  as  to  profess  what  is  inconceivable, 
yet  to  protest  against  what  is  surely  within  the  limits 
of  intelligible  hypothesis.  If,  through  divine  grace, 
we  once  are  able  to  accept  the  solemn  truth  that  the 
Supreme  Being  was  born  of  a  mortal  woman,  what  is 
there  to  be  imagined  which  can  offend  us  on  the 
ground  of  its  marvellousness  ?  Thus,  you  see,  it 
happens  that,  though  First  Principles  are  commonly 


17°  MIRACLES. 

assumed,  not  proved,  ours  in  this  case  admits,  if  not 
of  proof,  yet  of  recommendation,  by  means  of  that 
fundamental  truth  which  Protestants  profess  as  well  as 
we.  When  we  start  with  assuming  that  miracles  are 
not  unlikely,  we  are  putting  forth  a  position  which  lies 
imbedded,  as  it  were,  and  involved,  in  the  great  re- 
vealed fact  of  the  Incarnation. 

So  much  is  plain  on  starting ;  but  more  is  plain 
too.  Miracles  are  not  only  not  unlikely,  they  are 
positively  likely ;  and  for  this  simple  reason,  because, 
for  the  most  part,  when  God  begins  He  goes  on. 
We  conceive  that  when  He  first  did  a  miracle,  He 
began  a  series ;  what  He  commenced,  He  continued  : 
what  has  been,  will  be.  Surely  this  is  good  and 
clear  reasoning.  To  my  own  mind,  certainly,  it  is 
incomparably  more  difficult  to  believe  that  the  Divine 
Being  should  do  one  miracle  and  no  more,  than  that 
He  should  do  a  thousand  ;  that  He  should  do  one 
great  miracle  only,  than  that  He  should  do  a  multitude 
of  less  besides.  This  beautiful  world  of  nature,  His 
own  work,  He  broke  its  harmony  ;  He  broke  through 
His  own  laws  which  He  had  imposed  on  it;  He 
worked  out  His  purposes,  not  simply  through  it,  but 
in  violation  of  it.  If  He  did  this  only  in  the  lifetime 
of  the  Apostles,  if  He  did  it  but  once,  eighteen  huiv 
dred  years  ago  and  more,  that  isolated  infringement 
looks  as  the  mere  infringement  of  a  rule  :  if  Divine 
Wisdom  would  not  leave  an  infringement,  an  anomaly, 
a  solecism  on  His  work,  He  might  be  expected  to 
introduce  a  series  of  miracles,  and  turn  the  apparent 
exception  into  an  additional  law  of  His  providence. 
If  the  Divine  Being  does  a  thing  once,  He  is,  judging 


MIRACLES.  171 

by  human  reason,  likely  to  do  it  again.  This  surely  is 
common  sense.  If  a  beggar  gets  food  at  a  gentleman's 
house  once,  does  he  not  send  others  thither  after  him  ? 
If  you  are  attacked  by  thieves  once,  do  you  forthwith 
leave  your  windows  open  at  night  ?  If  an  acquaint- 
ance were  convicted  of  a  fraud,  would  you  let  that  be 
the  signal  for  reposing  confidence  in  him,  as  a  man 
who  could  not  possibly  deceive  you  ?  Nay,  suppose 
you  yourselves  were  once  to  see  a  miracle,  would  you 
not  feel  that  experience  to  be  like  passing  a  line  ? 
should  you,  in  consequence  of  it,  declare,  "I  never 
will  believe  another  if  I  hear  of  one  ? "  would  it  not, 
on  the  contrary,  predispose  you  to  listen  to  a  new 
report?  would  you  scoff  at  it  and  call  it  priestcraft 
for  the  reason  that  you  had  actually  seen  one  with 
your  own  eyes  ?  I  think  you  would  not ;  then  I  ask 
what  is  the  difference  of  the  argument,  whether  you 
have  seen  one  or  believe  one  ?  You  believe  the 
Apostolic  miracles,  therefore  be  inclined  beforehand 
to  believe  later  ones.  Thus  you  see,  our  First  Prin- 
ciple, that  miracles  are  not  unlikely  now,  is  not  at  all 
a  strange  one  in  the  mouths  of  those  who  believe  that 
the  Supreme  Being  came  miraculously  into  this  world, 
miraculously  united  Himself  to  man's  nature,  passed  a 
life  of  miracles  and  then  gave  His  Apostles  a  greater 
gift  of  miracles,  than  He  exercised  Himself.  So  far  on 
the  principle  itself  ;  and  now,  in  the  next  place,  see 
what  comes  of  it. 

This  comes  of  it, — that  there  are  two  systems  going 
on  in  the  world,  one  of  nature,  and  one  above  nature ; 
and  two  histories,  one  of  common  events,  and  one  of 
miracles ;  and  each  system  and  each  history  has  its 


172  MIRACLES. 

own  order.  When  I  hear  of  the  miracle  of  a  Saint, 
my  first  feeling  would  be  of  the  same  kind  as  if  it 
were  a  report  of  any  natural  exploit  or  event.  Sup- 
posing, for  instance,  I  heard  a  report  of  the  death  of 
some  public  man ;  it  would  not  startle  me,  even  if  I 
did  not  at  once  credit  it,  for  all  men  must  die.  Did 
I  read  of  any  great  feat  of  valor,  I  should  believe  it, 
if  imputed  to  Alexander  or  Cceur  de  Lion.  Did  I 
hear  of  any  act  of  baseness,  I  should  disbelieve  it, 
if  imputed  to  a  friend  whom  I  knew  and  loved.  And 
so,  in  like  manner,  were  a  miracle  reported  to  me  as 
wrought  by  a  member  of  Parliament,  or  a  Bishop  of 
the  Establishment,  or  a  Wesleyan  preacher,  I  should 
repudiate  the  notion  :  were  it  referred  to  a  saint,  or 
the  relic  of  a  saint,  or  the  intercession  of  a  saint,  I 
should  not  be  startled  at  it,  though  I  might  not  at 
once  believe  it.  And  I  certainly  should  be  right  in 
this  conduct,  supposing  my  First  Principle  be  true. 
Miracles  to  the  Catholic  are  facts  of  history  and  biog- 
raphy, and  nothing  else ;  and  they  are  to  be  regarded 
and  dealt  with  as  other  facts ;  and  as  natural  facts, 
under  circumstances,  do  not  startle  Protestants,  so 
supernatural,  under  circumstances,  do  not  startle  the 
Catholic.1  They  may  or  may  not  have  taken  place  in 
particular  cases;  he  may  be  unable  to  determine 

1  Douglas,  succeeding  Middleton,  lays  down  the  sceptical  and 
Protestant  First  Principle  thus  :  "  The  history  of  miracles  (to 
make  use  of  the  words  of  an  author,  whose  authority  you  will 
think  of  some  weight)  is  of  a  kind  totally  different  from  that  of 
common  events  ;  the  one  to  be  suspected  always  of  course,  without 
the  strongest  evidence  to  confirm  it ;  the  other  to  be  admitted  of 
course,  without  as  strong  reason  to  suspect  it,"  etc. — Criterion,  p.  26. 


MIRACLES.  173 

which ;  he  may  have  no  distinct  evidence ;  he  may 
suspend  his  judgment,  but  he  will  say,  "  It  is  very  pos- 
sible ;  "  he  never  will  say,  "  I  cannot  believe  it." 

Take  the  history  of  Alfred  :  you  know  his  wise, 
mild,  beneficent,  yet  daring  character,  and  his  roman- 
tic vicissitudes  of  fortune.  This  great  king  has  a 
number  of  stories,  or,  as  you  may  call  them,  legends, 
told  of  him.  Do  you  believe  them  all  ?  no.  Do  you, 
on  the  other  hand,  think  them  incredible  ?  no.  Do 
you  call  a  man  a  dupe  or  a  blockhead  for  believing 
them  ?  no.  Do  you  call  an  author  a  knave  and  a  cheat 
who  records  them  ?  no.  You  go  into  neither  extreme, 
whether  of  implicit  faith  or  of  violent  reprobation. 
You  are  not  so  extravagant ;  you  see  that  they  suit  his 
character,  they  may  have  been  ;  yet  this  is  so  romantic, 
that  has  so  little  evidence,  a  third  is  so  confused  in 
dates  or  in  geography,  that  you  are  in  matter  of  fact 
indisposed  towards  them.  Others  are  probably  true, 
others  certainly.  Nor  do  you  force  every  one  to  take 
your  own  view  of  particular  stories  ;  you  and  your 
neighbours  think  differently  about  this  or  that  in  detail 
and  agree  to  differ.  There  is  in  the  Museum  at 
Oxford,  a  jewel  or  trinket  said  to  be  Alfred's ;  it  is 
shown  to  all  comers  :  I  never  heard  the  keeper  of  the 
Museum  accused  of  hypocrisy  or  fraud  for  showing, 
with  Alfred's  name  appended,  what  he  might  or  might 
not  himself  believe  to  have  belonged  to  that  great  king : 
nor  did  I  ever  see  any  party  of  strangers,  who  were 
looking  at  it  with  awe,  regarded  by  any  self-complacent 
bystander  with  scornful  compassion.  Yet  the  relic  is 
not  to  a  certainty  Alfred's.  The  world  pays  civil 
honour  to  it  on  the  probability;  we  pay  religious 


174  MIRACLES. 

honour  to  relics,  if  so  be,  on  the  probability.  Is  the 
Tower  of  London  shut  against  sightseers,  because  the 
coats  of  mail  or  pikes  there  may  have  half  legendary 
tales  connected  with  them  ?  why  then  may  not  the 
country  people  come  up  in  joyous  companies,  singing 
and  piping,  to  see  the  Holy  Coat  at  Treves  ?  There  is 
our  Queen  again,  who  is  so  truly  and  justly  popular  ; 
she  roves  about  in  the  midst  of  tradition  and  romance  ; 
she  scatters  myths  and  legends  from  her  as  she  goes 
along ;  she  is  a  being  of  poetry,  and  you  might  fairly 
be  sceptical  whether  she  had  any  personal  existence. 
She  is  always  at  some  beautiful,  noble,  bounteous  work 
or  other,  if  you  trust  the  papers.  She  is  doing  alms- 
deeds  in  the  Highlands;  she  meets  beggars  in  her 
rides  at  Windsor;  she  writes  verses  in  albums,  or 
draws  sketches,  or  is  mistaken  for  the  housekeeper  by 
some  blind  old  woman,  or  she  runs  up  a  hill,  as  if  she 
were  a  child.  Who  finds  fault  with  these  things  ?  he 
would  be  a  cynic,  he  would  be  white-livered,  and  would 
have  gall  for  blood,  who  was  not  struck  with  this  grace- 
ful, touching  evidence  of  the  love  which  her  subjects 
bear  her.  Who  could  have  the  head,  even  if  he  had 
the  heart,  who  could  be  so  cross  and  peevish,  who 
could  be  so  solemn  and  perverse,  as  to  say  that  some 
of  the  stories  may  be  simple  lies,  and  all  of  them  might 
have  stronger  evidence  than  they  carry  with  them  ? 
Do  you  think  she  is  displeased  at  them?  Why,  then, 
should  He,  the  Great  Father,  who  once  walked  the 
earth,  look  sternly  on  the  unavoidable  mistakes  of  His 
own  subjects  and  children  in  their  devotion  to  Him 
and  His  ?  Even  granting  they  mistake  some  cases  in 
particular,  from  the  infirmity  of  human  nature,  and  the 


MIRACLES.  175 

contingencies  of  evidence,  and  fancy  there  is  or  has 
been  a  miracle  here  or  there  when  there  is  not ; — 
though  a  tradition,  attached  to  a  picture,  or  to  a  shrine, 
or  to  a  well,  be  very  doubtful ; — though  one  relic  be 
sometimes  mistaken  for  another,  and  St.  Theodore 
stands  for  St.  Eugenius,  or  St.  Agathocles ; — still,  once 
take  into  account  our  First  Principle,  that  He  is  likely 
to  continue  miracles  among  us,  which  is  as  good  as  the 
Protestant's,  and  I  do  not  see  why  He  should  feel 
much  displeasure  with  us  on  account  of  this  error,  or 
should  cease  to  work  wonders  in  our  behalf.  In  the 
Protestant's  view,  indeed,  who  assumes  that  miracles 
never  are,  our  thaumatology  is  one  great  falsehood ; 
but  that  is  his  First  Principle,  as  I  have  said  so  often, 
which  he  does  not  prove  but  assume.  If  he,  indeed, 
upheld  our  system,  or  we  held  his  principle,  in  either 
case  he  or  we  should  be  impostors ;  but  though  we 
should  be  partners  to  a  fraud,  if  we  thought  like  Prot- 
estants, we  surely  are  not,  because  we  think  like 
Catholics. 

Such,  then,  is  the  answer  which  I  make  to  those 
who  would  urge  against  us  the  multitude  of  miracles 
recorded  in  our  Saints'  Lives  and  devotional  works, 
for  many  of  which  there  is  little  evidence,  and  for  some 
next  to  none.  We  think  them  true  in  the  sense  in 
which  Protestants  think  the  details  of  English  history 
true.  When  they  say  that,  they  do  not  mean  to  say 
there  are  no  mistakes  in  it,  but  no  mistakes  of  conse- 
quence, none  which  alter  the  general  course  of  history. 
Nor  do  they  mean  they  are  equally  sure  of  every  part; 
for  evidence  is  fuller  and  better  for  some  things  than 


176  MIRACLES. 

for  others.  They  do  not  stake  their  credit  on  the  truth 
of  Froissart  or  Sully,  they  do  not  pledge  themselves  for 
the  accuracy  of  Doddington  or  Walpole,  they  do  not 
embrace  as  an  Evangelist,  Hume,  Sharon  Turner,  or 
Macaulay.  And  yet  they  do  not  think  it  necessary,  on 
the  other  hand,  to  commence  a  religious  war  against 
all  our  historical  catechisms,  and  abstracts,  and  dic- 
tionaries, and  tales  and  biographies,  through  the 
country;  they  have  no  call  on  them  to  amend  and 
expurgate  books  of  archaeology,  antiquities,  heraldry, 
architecture,  geography,  and  statistics,  to  rewrite  our 
inscriptions,  and  to  establish  a  censorship  on  all  new 
publications  for  the  time  to  come.  And  so  as  regards 
the  miracles  of  the  Catholic  Church ;  if,  indeed, 
miracles  never  can  occur,  then,  indeed,  impute  the  nar- 
ratives to  fraud  ;  but  till  you  prove  they  are  not  likely, 
we  shall  Consider  the  histories  which  have  come  down 
to  us  true  on  the  whole,  though  in  particular  cases  they 
may  be  exaggerated  or  unfounded.  Where,  indeed, 
they  can  certainly  be  proved  to  be  false,  there  we  shall 
be  bound  to  do  our  best  to  get  rid  of  them  ;  but  till 
that  is  clearf  we  shall  be  liberal  enough  to  allow  others 
to  use  their  private  judgment  in  their  favour,  as  we  use 
ours  in  their  disparagement.  For  myself,  lest  I  appear 
in  any  way  to  be  shrinking  from  a  determinate  judg- 
ment on  the  claims  of  some  of  those  miracles  and  relics, 
which  Protestants  are  so  startled  at,  and  to  be  hiding 
particular  questions  in  what  is  vague  and  general,  I 
will  avow  distinctly,  that,  putting  out  of  the  question 
the  hypothesis  of  unknown  laws  of  nature  (that  is,  of 
the  professed  miracle  being  not  miraculous),  I  think  it 
impossible  to  withstand  the  evidence  which  is  brought 


MIRACLES.  177 

for  the  liquefaction  of  the  blood  of  St.  Januarius  at 
Naples,  and  for  the  motion  of  the  eyes  of  the  pictures 
of  the  Madonna  in  the  Roman  States.  I  see  no  reason 
to  doubt  the  material  of  the  Lombard  crown  at  Monza  ; 
and  I  do  not  see  why  the  Holy  Coat  at  Treves  may 
not  have  been  what  it  professes  to  be.  I  firmly  believe 
that  portions  of  the  True  Cross  are  at  Rome  and  else- 
where, that  the  Crib,  of  Bethlehem  is  at  Rome,  and  the 
bodies  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  also.  I  believe  that 
at  Rome  too  lies  St.  Stephen,  that  St.  Matthew  lies  at 
Salerno,  and  St.  Andrew  at  Amalfi.  I  firmly  believe 
that  the  relics  of  the  saints  are  doing  innumerable  mira- 
cles and  graces  daily,  and  that  it  needs  only  for  a 
Catholic  to  show  devotion  to  any  saint  in  order  to 
receive  special  benefits  from  his  intercession.  I  firmly 
believe  that  saints  in  their  life-time  have  before  now 
raised  the  dead  to  life,  crossed  the  sea  without  vessels, 
multiplied  grain  and  bread,  cured  incurable  diseases, 
and  superseded  the  operation  of  the  laws  of  the  uni- 
verse in  a  multitude,  of  ways.  Many  men,  when  they 
hear  an  educated  man  so  speak,  will  at  once  impute 
the  avowal  to  insanity,  or  to  an  idiosyncrasy,  or  to 
imbecility  of  mind,  or  to  decrepitude  of  powers,  or  to 
fanaticism,  or  to  hypocrisy.  They  have  a  right  to  say 
so,  if  they  will ;  and  we  have  a  right  to  ask  them  why 
they  do  not  say  it  of  those  who  bow  down  before  the 
Mystery  of  mysteries,  the  Divine  Incarnation.  If  they 
do  not  believe  this,  they  are  not  yet  Protestants ;  if 
they  do,  let  them  grant  that  He  who  has  done  the 
greater  may  do  the  less. — Present  Position  of  Catholics, 
ed.  1889,  pp.  303-313  (1851). 

12 


(Burta  an& 

IN  the  bosom  of  the  woods  which  stretched  for 
many  miles  from  the  immediate  environs  of  Sicca,  and 
placed  on  a  gravel  slope  reaching  down  to  a  brook, 
which  ran  in  a  bottom  close  by,  was  a  small,  rude  hut, 
of  a  kind  peculiar  to  Africa,  and  commonly  ascribed  to 
the  wandering  tribes,  who  neither  cared,  nor  had 
leisure,  for  a  more  stable  habitation.  Some  might 
have  called  it  a  tent,  from  the  goat's-hair  cloth  with 
which  it  was  covered  ;  but  it  looked,  as  to  shape,  like 
nothing  else  than  an  inverted  boat,  or  the  roof  of  a 
house  set  upon  the  ground.  Inside  it  was  seen  to  be 
constructed  of  the  branches  of  trees,  twisted  together  or 
wattled,  the  interstices,  or  rather  the  whole  surface, 
being  covered  with  clay.  Being  thus  stoutly  built, 
lined,  and  covered,  it  was  proof  against  the  tremen- 
dous rains,  to  which  the  climate,  for  which  it  was 
made,  was  subject.  Along  the  centre  ridge  or  back- 
bone, which  varied  in  height  from  six  to  ten  feet  from 
the  ground,  it  was  supported  by  three  posts  or  pillars ; 
at  one  end  it  rose  conically  to  an  open  aperture,  which 
served  for  chimney,  for  sky-light,  and  for  ventilator. 
Hooks  were  suspended  from  the  roof  for  baskets,  ar- 
ticles of  clothing,  weapons,  and  implements  of  various 
kinds  ;  and  a  second  cone,  excavated  in  the  ground  with 
the  vertex  downward,  served  as  a  storehouse  for  grain. 


GURTA  AND  JUBA.  179 

The  door  was  so  low,  that  an  ordinary  person  must 
bend  double  to  pass  through  it. 

However,  it  was  in  the  winter  months  only,  when 
the  rains  were  profuse,  that  the  owner  of  this  respect- 
able mansion  condescended  to  creep  into  it.  In  sum- 
mer she  had  a  drawing-room,  as  it  may  be  called,  of 
nature's  own  creation,  in  which  she  lived,  and  in  one 
quarter  of  which  she  had  her  lair.  Close  above  the 
hut  was  a  high  plot  of  level  turf,  surrounded  by  old 
oaks,  and  fringed  beneath  with  thick  underwood.  In 
the  centre  of  this  green  rose  a  yew  tree  of  primeval 
character.  Indeed,  the  whole  forest  spoke  of  the  very 
beginnings  of  the  world,  as  if  it  had  been  the  immedi- 
ate creation  of  that  Voice  which  bade  the  earth  clothe 
itself  with  green  life.  But  the  place  no  longer  spoke 
exclusively  of  its  Maker.  Upon  the  trees  hung  the 
emblems  and  objects  of  idolatry,  and  the  turf  was 
traced  with  magical  characters.  Littered  about  were 
human  bones,  horns  of  wild  animals,  wax  figures, 
spermaceti  taken  from  vaults,  large  nails,  to  which 
portions  of  flesh  adhered,  as  if  they  had  had  to  do 
with  malefactors,  metal  plates  engraved  with  strange 
characters,  bottled  blood,  hair  of  young  persons,  and 
old  rags.  The  reader  must  not  suppose  any  incanta- 
tion is  about  to  follow,  or  that  the  place  we  are  de- 
scribing will  have  a  prominent  place  in  what  remains 
of  our  tale ;  but  even  if  it  be  the  scene  of  only  one 
conversation,  and  one  event,  there  is  no  harm  in  de- 
scribing it,  as  it  appeared  on  that  occasion. 

The  old  crone,  who  was  seated  in  this  bower  of  de- 
light, had  an  expression  of  countenance  in  keeping, 
not  with  the  place,  but  with  the  furniture  with  which  it 


i8o  GURTA  AND  JUBA. 

was  adorned  :  that  furniture  told  her  trade.  Whether 
the  root  of  superstition  might  be  traced  deeper  still, 
and  the  woman  and  her  traps  were  really  and  directly 
connected  with  the  powers  beneath  the  earth,  it  is  im- 
possible to  determine  :  it  is  certain  she  had  the  will,  it 
is  certain  that  that  will  was  from  their  inspiration  ; 
nay,  it  is  certain  that  she  thought  she  really  possessed 
the  communications  which  she  desired  ;  it  is  certain, 
too,  she  so  far  deceived  herself  as  to  fancy  that  what 
she  learned  by  mere  natural  means  came  to  her  from 
a  diabolical  source.  She  kept  up  an  active  corre- 
spondence with  Sicca.  She  was  consulted  by 
numbers  :  she  was  up  with  the  public  news,  the  social 
gossip,  and  the  private  and  secret  transactions  of  the 
hour ;  and  had,  before  now,  even  interfered  in  matters 
of  state,  and  had  been  courted  by  rival  political  parties. 
But  in  the  high  cares  and  occupations  of  this  interest- 
ing person,  we  are  not  here  concerned  ;  but  with  a 
conversation  which  took  place  between  her  and  Juba, 
about  the  same  hour  of  the  evening  as  that  of 
Caecilius's  escape,  but  on  the  day  after  it,  while  the 
sun  was  gleaming  almost  horizontally  through  the  tall 
trunks  of  the  trees  of  the  forest. 

"  Well,  my  precious  boy,  "  said  the  old  woman,  "  the 
choicest  gifts  of  great  Cham  be  your  portion  !  You 
had  excellent  sport  yesterday,  I'll  warrant.  The  rats 
squeaked,  eh  ?  and  you  beat  the  life  out  of  them.  That 
scoundrel  sacristan,  I  suppose,  has  taken  up  his 
quarters  below.  " 

"  You  may  say  it,  "  answered  Juba.  "  The  reptile  ! 
he  turned  right  about,  and  would  have  made  himself 
an  honest  fellow,  when  it  couldn't  be  helped. " 


GUR  TA  AND  JUBA.  18 1 

"  Good,  good  !  "  returned  Gurta,  as  if  she  had  got 
something  very  pleasant  in  her  mouth ;  "  ah  !  that  is 
good  !  but  he_  did  not  escape  on  that  score,  I  do 
trust. " 

"They  pulled  him  to  pieces  all  the  more  cheer- 
fully, "  said  Juba. 

"  Pulled  him  to  pieces,  limb  by  limb,  joint  by  joint, 
eh  ?  "  answered  Gurta.  "  Did  they  skin  him  ? — did 
they  do  anything  to  his  eyes,  or  his  tongue  ? — Anyhow, 
it  was  too  quickly,  Juba.  Slowly,  leisurely,  gradually. 
Yes,  it's  like  a  glutton  to  be  quick  about  it.  Taste 
him,  handle  him,  play  with  him, — that's  luxury !  but  to 
bolt  him,— faugh  !  " 

"  Caeso's  slave  made  a  good  end,  "  said  Juba  :  "  he 
stood  up  for  his  views,  and  died  like  a  man.  " 

"  The  gods  smite  him  !  but  he  has  gone  up, — up  :  " 
and  she  laughed.  "  Up  to  what  they  call  bliss  and 
glory  ; — such  glory  !  but  he's  out  of  our  domain,  you 
know.  But  he  did  not  die  easy  ?  " 

"  The  boys  worried  him  a  good  deal,  "  answered 
Juba  :  "  but  it's  not  quite  in  my  line,  mother,  all  this. 
I  think  you  drink  a  pint  of  blood  morning  and  even- 
ing, and  thrive  on  it,  old  woman.  It  makes  you 
merry  ;  but  it's  too  much  for  my  stomach." 

"  Ha,  ha,  my  boy  !  "  cried  Gurta  :  "  you'll  improve 
in  time,  though  you  make  wry  faces,  now  that  you're 
young.  Well,  and  have  you  brought  me  any  news 
from  the  capitol  ?  Is  any  one  getting  a  rise  in  the 
world,  or  a  downfall  ?  How  blows  the  wind  ?  Are 
there  changes  in  the  camp  ?  This  Decius,  I  suspect, 
will  not  last  long." 

"  They  all  seem  desperately  frightened,"  said  Juba, 
IS 


182  GURTA  AND  JUBA. 

"  lest  they  should  not  smite  your  friends  hard  enough, 
Gurta.  Root  and  branch  is  the  word.  They'll  have 
to  make  a  few  Christians  for  the  occasion,  in  order  to 
kill  them  :  and  I  almost  think  they're  about  it,"  he 
added,  thoughtfully.  "  They  have  to  show  that  they 
are  not  surpassed  by  the  rabble.  'Tis  a  pity  Chris- 
tians are  so  few,  isn't  it,  mother  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said ;  "  but  we  must  crush  them, 
grind  them,  many  or  few  :  and  we  shall,  we  shall ! 
Callista's  to  come." 

"  I  don't  see  they  are  worse  than  other  people,"  said 
Juba ;  "  not  at  all,  except  that  they  are  commonly 
sneaks.  If  Callista  turns,  why  should  not  I  turn  too, 
mother,  to  keep  her  company,  and  keep  your  hand 
in?" 

"  No,  no,  my  boy,"  returned  the  witch,  "  you  must 
serve  my  master.  You  are  having  your  fling  just  now, 
but  you  will  buckle  to  in  good  time.  You  must  one 
day  take  some  work  with  my  merry  men.  Come  here, 
child,"  said  the  fond  mother,  "  and  let  me  kiss  you." 

"  Keep  your  kisses  for  your  monkeys,  and  goats, 
and  cats,"  answered  Juba  :  "  they're  not  to  my  taste> 
old  dame.  Master !  my  master  !  I  won't  have  a  mas- 
ter! I'll  be  nobody's  servant.  I'll  never  stand  to  be 
hired,  nor  cringe  to  a  bully,  nor  quake  before  a  rod. 
Please  yourself,  Gurta ;  I'm  a  free  man.  You're  my 
mother  by  courtesy  only." 

Gurta  looked  at  him  savagely.  "  Why  you're  not 
going  to  be  pious  and  virtuous,  Juba  ?  A  choice  saint 
you'll  make !  You  shall  be  drawn  for  a  picture." 

"  Why  shouldn't  I,  if  I  choose  ? "  said  Juba.  "  If  I 
must  take  service,  willy,  nilly,  I'd  any  day  prefer  the 


GURTA  AND  JUBA.  183 

other's  to  that  of  your  friend.  I've  not  left  the  master 
to  take  the  man." 

"  Blaspheme  not  the  great  gods,"  she  answered,  "or 
they'll  do  you  a  mischief  yet." 

"  I  say  again,"  insisted  Juba,  "  if  I  must  lick  the 
earth,  it  shall  not  be  where  your  friend  has  trod.  It 
shall  be  in  my  brother's  fashion,  rather  than  in  yours, 
Gurta." 

"  Agellius  !  "  she  shrieked  out  with  such  disgust, 
that  it  is  wonderful  she  uttered  the  name  at  all.  "Ah! 
you  have  not  told  me  about  him,  boy.  Well,  is  he  safe 
in  the  pit,  or  in  the  stomach  of  an  hyena  ? " 

"  He's  alive,"  said  Juba  ;  "  but  he  has  not  got  it  in 
him  to  be  a  Christian.  Yes,  he's  safe  with  his  uncle." 

"  Ah  !  Jucundus  must  ruin  him,  debauch  him,  and 
then  we  must  make  away  with  him.  We  must  not  be 
in  a  hurry,"  said  Gurta,  "  it  must  be  body  and  soul." 

"  No  one  shall  touch  him,  craven  as  he  is,"  an- 
swered Juba.  "  I  despise  him,  but  let  him  alone." 

"  Don't  come  across  me,"  said  Gurta,  sullenly  ;  "  I'll 
have  my  way.  Why,  you  know  I  could  smite  you  to 
the  dust,  as  well  as  him,  if  I  chose." 

"  But  you  have  not  asked  me  about  Callista,"  an- 
swered Juba.  "  It  is  really  a  capital  joke,  but  she  has 
got  into  prison  for  certain,  for  being  a  Christian. 
Fancy  it !  they  caught  her  in  the  streets,  and  put  her 
in  the  guard-house,  and  have  had  her  up  for  examina- 
tion. You  see  they  want  a  Christian  for  the  nonce  :  it 
would  not  do  to  have  none  such  in  prison ;  so  they 
will  flourish  with  her  till  Decius  bolts  from  the  scene. 

"  The  furies  have  her  !  "  cried  Gurta  :  "  she  is  a 
Christian,  my  boy  :  I  told  you  so,  long  ago." 


184  GURTA  AND  JUS  A. 

"  Callista  a  Christian  !  "  answered  Juba,  "  ha  !  ha  ! 
She  and  Agellius  are  going  to  make  a  match  of  it,  of 
some  sort  or  other.  They're  thinking  of  other  things 
than  paradise." 

"  She  and  the  old  priest,  more  likely,  more  likely," 
said  Gurta.  "  He's  in  prison  with  her, — in  the  pit,  as 
I  trust." 

"  Your  master  has  cheated  you  for  once,  old  woman," 
said  Juba. 

Gurta  looked  at  him  fiercely,  and  seemed  waiting 
for  his  explanation.  He  began  singing  : — 

"  She  wheedled  and  coaxed,  but  he  was  no  fool ; 
He'd  be  his  own  master,  he'd  not  be  her  tool ; 
Not  the  little  black  moor  should  send  him  to  school. 

"  She  foamed  and  she  cursed, — 'twas  the  same  thing  to  him ; 
She  laid  well  her  trap ;  but  he  carried  his  whim  : — 
The  priest  scuffled  off,  safe  in  life  and  in  limb." 

Gurta  was  almost  suffocated  with  passion.  "  Cyp- 
rianus  has  not  escaped,  boy  ?  "  she  asked  at  length. 

"  I  got  him  off,"  said  Juba,  undauntedly. 

A  shade,  as  of  Erebus,  passed  over  the  witch's 
face  ;  but  she  remained  quite  silent. 

"  Mother,  I  am  my  own  master,"  he  continued.  "  I 
must  break  your  assumption  of  superiority.  I'm  not 
a  boy,  though  you  call  me  so.  I'll  have  my  own  way. 
Yes,  I  saved  Cyprianus.  You're  a  bloodthirsty  old 
hag !  Yes,  Pve  seen  your  secret  doings.  Did  not  I 
catch  you  the  other  day,  practising  on  that  little  child  ? 
You  had  nailed  him  up  by  hands  and  feet  against  the 
tree,  and  were  cutting  him  to  pieces  at  your  leisure, 


GURTA  AND  JUBA.  185 

as  he  quivered  and  shrieked  the  .while.  You  were 
examining  or  using  his  liver  for  some  of  your  black 
purposes.  It's  not  in  my  line  ;  but  you  gloated  over 
it ;  and  when  he  wailed,  you  wailed  in  mimicry.  You 
were  panting  with  pleasure." 

Gurta  was  still  silent,  and  had  an  expression  on 
her  face,  awful  from  the  intensity  of  its  malignity. 
She  had  uttered  a  low  piercing  whistle. 

"  Yes  !  "  continued  Juba,  "  you  revelled  in  it.  You 
chattered  to  the  poor  babe,  when  it  screamed,  as  a 
nurse  to  an  infant.  You  called  it  pretty  names,  and 
squeaked  out  your  satisfaction  each  time  you  stuck  it. 
You  old  hag  !  I'm  not  of  your  breed,  though  they 
say  I  am  of  your  blood.  /  don't  fear  you,"  he  said, 
observing  the  expression  of  her  countenance,  "  I  don't 
fear  the  immortal  devil  !  "  And  he  continued  his 
song  :— 

"  She  beckoned  the  moon,  and  the  moon  came  down ; 
The  green  earth  shrivelled  beneath  her  frown ; 
But  a  man's  strong  will  can  keep  his  own." 

While  he  was  talking  and  singing,  her  call  had 
been  answered  from  the  hut.  An  animal  of  some 
wonderful  species  had  crept  out  of  it,  and  proceeded 
to  creep  and  crawl,  moeing  and  twisting  as  it  went, 
along  the  trees  and  shrubs  which  rounded  the  grass 
plot.  When  it  came  up  to  the  old  woman,  it  crouched 
at  her  feet,  and  then  rose  up  upon  its  hind  legs  and 
begged.  She  took  hold  of  the  uncouth  beast  and 
began  to  fondle  it  in  her  arms,  muttering  something  in 
its  ear.  At  length,  when  Juba  stopped  for  a  moment 
in  his  song,  she  suddenly  flung  it  right  at  him,  with 


l86  GURTA  AMD  JUBA. 

great  force,  saying,  "  Take  that ! "  She  then  gave 
utterance  to  a  low  inward  laugh,  and  leaned  herself 
back  against  the  trunk  of  the  tree  under  which  she 
was  sitting,  with  her  knees  drawn  up  almost  to  her 
chin. 

The  blow  seemed  to  act  on  Juba  as  a  shock  on  his 
nervous  system,  both  from  its  violence  and  its  strange- 
ness. He  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and  then,  without 
saying  a  word,  he  turned  away,  and  walked  slowly 
down  the  hill,  as  if  in  a  maze.  Then  he  sat  down.  .  .  . 

In  an  instant  up  he  started  again  with  a  great  cry, 
and  began  running  at  the  top  of  his  speed.  He 
thought  he  heard  a  voice  speaking  in  him  ;  and,  how- 
ever fast  he  ran,  the  voice,  or  whatever  it  was,  kept  up 
with  him.  He  rushed  through  the  underwood,  tram- 
pling and  crushing  it  under  his  feet,  and  scaring  the 
birds  and  small  game  which  lodged  there.  At  last, 
exhausted,  he  stood  still  for  breath,  when  he  heard  it 
say  loudly  and  deeply,  as  if  speaking  with  his  own 
organs,  "  You  cannot  escape  from  yourself  !  "  Then  a 
terror  seized  him ;  he  fell  down  and  fainted  away. 

When  his  senses  returned,  his  first  impression  was 
of  something  in  him  not  himself.  He  felt  it  in  his 
breathing ;  he  tasted  it  in  his  mouth.  The  brook 
which  ran  by  Gurta's  encampment  had  by  this  time 
become  a  streamlet,  though  still  shallow.  He  plunged 
into  it;  a  feeling  came  upon  him  as  if  he  ought  to 
drown  himself,  had  it  been  deeper.  He  rolled  about 
in  it,  in  spite  of  its  flinty  and  rocky  bed.  When  he 
came  out  of  it,  his  tunic  sticking  to  him,  he  tore  it  off 
his  shoulders,  and  let  it  hang  round  his  girdle  in 
shreds,  as  it  might.  The  shock  of  the  water,  however, 


GURTA  AND  JUS  A.  187 

acted  as  a  sedative  upon  him,  and  the  coolness  of  the 
night  refreshed  him.  He  walked  on  for  a  while  in 
silence. 

Suddenly  the  power  within  him  began  uttering,  by 
means  of  his  organs  of  speech,  the  most  fearful  blas- 
phemies, words  embodying  conceptions  which,  had  they 
come  into  his  mind,  he  might  indeed  have  borne  with 
patience  before  this,  or  uttered  in  bravado,  but  which 
now  filled  him  with  inexpressible  loathing,  and  a 
terror  to  which  he  had  hitherto  been  quite  a  stranger. 
He  had  always  in  his  heart  believed  in  a  God,  but  he 
now  believed  with  a  reality  and  intensity  utterly  new 
to  him.  He  felt  it  as  if  he  saw  Him;  he  felt  there 
was  a  world  of  good  and  evil  beings.  He  did  not  love 
the  good,  or  hate  the  evil ;  but  he  shrank  from  the 
one,  and  he  was  terrified  at  the  other;  and  he  felt 
himself  carried  away,  against  his  will,  as  the  prey  of 
some  dreadful,  mysterious  power,  which  tyrannized 
over  him. 

The  day  had  closed — the  moon  had  risen.  He 
plunged  into  the  thickest  wood,  and  the  trees  seemed 
to  him  to  make  way  for  him.  Still  they  seemed  to 
moan  and  to  creak  as  they  moved  out  of  their  place. 
Soon  he  began  to  see  that  they  were  looking  at  him, 
and  exulting  over  his  misery.  They,  of  an  inferior 
nature,  had  had  no  gift  which  they  could  abuse  and 
lose  ;  and  they  remained  in  that  honour  and  perfection 
in  which  they  were  created.  Birds  of  the  night  flew 
out  of  them,  reptiles  slunk  away  ;  yet  soon  he  began 
to  be  surrounded,  wherever  he  went,  by  a  circle  of 
owls,  bats,  ravens,  crows,  snakes,  wild  cats,  and  apes 
which  were  always  looking  at  him,  but  somehow  made 


1 88  GURTA  AND  JUBA. 

way,  retreating  before  him,  and  yet  forming  again,  and 
in  order,  as  he  marched  along. 

He  had  passed  through  the  wing  of  the  forest  which 
he  entered,  and  penetrated  into  the  more  mountainous 
country.  He  ascended  the  heights ;  he  was  a  taller, 
stronger  man  than  he  had  been  ;  he  went  forward  with 
a  preternatural  vigour,  and  flourished  his  arms  with 
the  excitement  of  some  vinous  or  gaseous  intoxication. 
He  heard  the  roar  of  the  wild  beasts  echoed  along  the 
woody  ravines  which  were  cut  into  the  solid  mountain 
rock,  with  a  reckless  feeling,  as  if  he  could  cope  with 
them.  As  he  passed  the  dens  of  the  lion,  leopard, 
hyena,  jackal,  wild  boar,  and  wolf,  there  he  saw  them 
sitting  at  the  entrance,  or  stopping  suddenly  as  they 
prowled  along,  and  eyeing  him,  but  not  daring  to 
approach.  He  strode  along  from  rock  to  rock,  and 
over  precipices,  with  the  certainty  and  ease  of  some 
giant  in  Eastern  fable.  Suddenly  a  beast  of  prey  came 
across  him  ;  in  a  moment  he  had  torn  up  by  the  roots 
the  stump  of  a  wild  vine  plant,  which  was  near  him, 
had  thrown  himself  upon  his  foe  before  it  could  act  on 
the  aggressive,  had  flung  it  upon  its  back,  forced  the 
weapon  into  its  mouth,  and  was  stamping  on  its  chest. 
He  knocked  the  life  out  of  the  furious  animal ;  and 
crying  "  Take  that,"  tore  its  flesh,  and,  applying  his 
mouth  to  the  wound,  sucked  a  draught  of  its  blood. 

He  has  passed  over  the  mountain,  and  has  de- 
scended its  side.  Bristling  shrubs,  swamps,  precipitous 
banks,  rushing  torrents,  are  no  obstacle  to  his  course. 
He  has  reached  the  brow  of  a  hill,  with  a  deep  placid 
river  at  the  foot  of  it,  just  as  the  dawn  begins  to  break. 
It  is  a  lovely  prospect,  which  every  step  he  takes  is 


GURTA  AND  JVBA.  189 

becoming  more  definite  and  more  various  in  the  day- 
light. Masses  of  oleander,  of  great  beauty,  with  their 
red  blossoms,  fringed  the  river,  and  tracked  out  its 
course  into  the  distance.  The  bank  of  the  hill  below 
him,  and  on  the  right  and  left,  was  a  maze  of  fruit 
trees,  about  which  nature,  if  it  were  not  the  hand  of 
man,  had  had  no  thought  except  that  they  should  be 
all  together  there.  The  wild  olive,  the  pomegranate, 
the  citron,  the  date,  the  mulberry,  the  peach,  the  apple, 
and  the  walnut,  formed  a  sort  of  spontaneous  orchard. 
Across  the  water  groves  of  palm  trees  waved  their  long 
and  graceful  branches  in  the  morning  breeze.  The 
stately  and  solemn  ilex,  marshalled  into  long  avenues, 
showed  the  way  to  substantial  granges  or  luxurious 
villas.  The  green  turf  or  grass  was  spread  out  be- 
neath, and  here  and  there  flocks  and  herds  were 
emerging  out  of  the  twilight  and  growing  distinct 
upon  the  eye.  Elsewhere  the  ground  rose  up  into 
sudden  eminences  crowned  with  chestnut  woods,  or 
with  plantations  of  cedar  and  acacia,  or  wildernesses 
of  the  cork  tree,  the  turpentine,  the  carooba,  the 
white  poplar,  and  the  Phenician  juniper,  while  overhead 
ascended  the  clinging  tendrils  of  the  hop,  and  an  under- 
wood of  myrtle  clothed  their  stems  and  roots.  A  pro- 
fusion of  wild  flowers  carpeted  the  ground  far  and  near. 
Juba  stood  and  gazed  till  the  sun  rose  opposite  to 
him,  envying,  repining,  hating,  like  Satan  looking  in 
upon  Paradise.  The  wild  mountains,  or  the  locust- 
smitten  tract  would  have  better  suited  the  tumult  of 
his  mind.  It  would  have  been  a  relief  to  him  to  have 
retreated  from  so  fair  a  scene,  and  to  have  retraced 
his  steps,  but  he  was  not  his  own  master,  and  was 


190  QURTA  AND  f  US  A. 

hurried  on.  Sorely  against  his  determined  strong 
resolve  and  will,  crying  out  and  protesting  and 
shuddering,  the  youth  was  forced  along  into  the  ful- 
ness of  beauty  and  blessing  with  which  he  was  so 
little  in  tune.  With  rage  and  terror  he  recognized 
that  he  had  no  part  in  his  own  movements,  but  was  a 
mere  slave.  In  spite  of  himself  he  must  go  forward 
and  behold  a  peace  and  sweetness  which  witnessed 
against  him.  He  dashed  down  through  the  thick 
grass,  plunged  into  the  water,  and  without  rest  or  res- 
pite began  a  second  course  of  aimless  toil  and  travail 
through  the  day. 

The  savage  dogs  of  the  villages  howled  and  fled  from 
him  as  he  passed  by ;  beasts  of  burden,  on  their  way  to 
market,  which  he  overtook  or  met,  stood  still,  foamed 
and  trembled ;  the  bright  birds,  the  blue  jay  and 
golden  oriole,  hid  themselves  under  the  leaves  and 
grass ;  the  storks,  a  religious  and  domestic  bird, 
stopped  their  sharp  clattering  note  from  the  high  tree 
or  farmhouse  turret,  where  they  had  placed  their  nests ; 
the  very  reptiles  skulked  away  from  his  shadow,  as  if  it 
were  poisonous.  The  boors  who  were  at  their  labour 
in  the  fields  suspended  it  to  look  at  one  whom  the 
Furies  were  lashing  and  whirling  on.  Hour  passed 
after  hour,  the  sun  attained  its  zenith,  and  then  de- 
clined, but  this  dreadful  compulsory  race  continued. 
O  what  would  he  have  given  for  one  five  minutes  of 
oblivion,  of  slumber,  of  relief  from  the  burning  thirst 
which  now  consumed  him  !  but  the  master  within  him 
ruled  his  muscles  and  his  joints,  and  the  intense  pain 
of  weariness  had  no  concomitant  of  prostration  of 
strength.  Suddenly  he  began  to  laugh  hideously ;  and 


GURTA  AND  JUBA.  191 

he  went  forward  dancing  and  singing  loud,  and  playing 
antics.  He  entered  a  hovel,  made  faces  at  the  chil- 
dren, till  one  of  them  fell  into  convulsions,  and  he  ran 
away  with  another ;  and,  when  some  country  people 
pursued  him,  he  flung  the  child  in  their  faces  saying, 
"  Take  that,"  and  said  he  was  Pentheus,  King  of 
Thebes,  of  whom  he  had  never  heard,  about  to  sol- 
emnize the  orgies  of  Bacchus,  and  he  began  to  spout 
a  chorus  of  Greek,  a  language  he  had  never  learnt  or 
heard  spoken. 

Now  it  is  evening  again,  and  he  has  come  up  to  a 
village  grove,  where  the  rustics  were  holding  a  feast  in 
honour  of  Pan.  The  hideous  brutal  god,  with  yawn- 
ing mouth,  horned  head,  and  goat's  feet,  was  placed  in 
a  rude  shed,  and  a  slaughtered  lamb,  decked  with 
flowers,  lay  at  his  feet.  The  peasants  were  frisking 
before  him,  boys  and  women,  when  they  were  startled 
by  the  sight  of  a  gaunt,  wild,  mysterious  figure,  which 
began  to  dance  too.  He  flung  and  capered  about  with 
such  vigour  that  they  ceased  their  sport  to  look  on, 
half  with  awe  and  half  as  a  diversion.  Suddenly  he 
began  to  groan  and  to  shriek,  as  if  contending  with 
himself,  and  willing  and  not  willing  some  new  act ; 
and  the  struggle  ^nded  in  his  falling  on  his  hands  and 
knees,  and  crawling  like  a  quadruped  towards  the  idol. 
When  he  got  near,  his  attitude  was  still  more  servile  ; 
still  groaning  and  shuddering,  he  laid  himself  flat  on 
the  ground,  and  wriggled  to  the  idol  as  a  worm,  and 
lapped  up  with  his  tongue  the  mingled  blood  and  dust 
which  lay  about  the  sacrifice.  And  then  again,  as  if 
nature  had  successfully  asserted  her  own  dignity,  he 
jumped  up  high  in  the  air,  and,  falling  on  the  god, 


192  CURT  A  AND  JUBA. 

broke  him  to  pieces,  and  scampered  away  out  of  pur- 
suit, before  the  lookers-on  recovered  from  the  surprise. 
Another  restless,  fearful  night  amid  the  open  coun- 
try ;  .  .  .  but  it  seemed  as  if  the  worst  had  passed, 
and,  though  still  under  the  heavy  chastisement  of  his 
pride,  there  was  more  in  Juba  of  human  action  and  of 
effectual  will.  The  day  broke  and  he  found  himself 
on  the  road  to  Sicca.  The  beautiful  outline  of  the 
city  was  right  before  him.  He  passed  his  brother's 
cottage  and  garden ;  it  was  a  wreck.  The  trees  torn 
up,  the  fences  broken  down,  and  the  room  pillaged  of 
the  little  that  could  be  found  there.  He  went  on  to 
the  city,  crying  out  Agellius ;  the  gate  was  open,  and 
he  entered.  He  went  on  to  the  Forum  ;  he  crossed  to 
the  house  of  Jucundus ;  few  people  as  yet  were  stirring 
in  the  place.  He  looked  up  at  the  wall.  Suddenly, 
by  the  help  of  projections  and  other  irregularities  of 
the  brick-work,  he  mounted  up  upon  the  flat  roof,  and 
dropped  down,  along  the  tiles,  through  the  impluvium 
into  the  middle  of  the  house.  He  went  softly  into 
Agellius's  closet,  where  he  was  asleep,  he  roused  him 
with  the  name  of  Callista,  threw  his  tunic  upon  him, 
which  was  by  his  side,  put  his  boots  into  his  hands, 
and  silently  beckoned  him  to  follow*  him.  When  he 
hesitated,  he  still  whispered  to  him  Callista,  and  at 
length  seized  him  and  led  him  on.  He  unbarred  the 
street  door,  and  with  a  movement  of  his  arm,  more 
like  a  blow  than  a  farewell,  thrust  him  into  the  street. 
Then  he  barred  again  the  door  upon  him,  and  lay 
down  himself  upon  the  bed  which  Agellius  had  left. 
His  good  angel,  we  may  suppose,  had  gained  a  point 
in  his  favour,  for  he  lay  quiet  and  fell  into  a  heavy 
sleep. — Callista^  ed.  1856,  chap.  23  (1855). 


CalHsta's  melon. 

O  WISDOM  of  the  world  !  and  strength  of  the  world  ! 
what  are  you  when  matched  beside  the  foolishness 
and  the  weakness  of  the  Christian  ?  You  are  great  in 
resources, manifold  in  methods,  hopeful  in  prospects', 
but  one  thing  you  have  not, — and  that  is  peace.  You 
are  always  tumultuous,  restless,  apprehensive.  You 
have  nothing  you  can  rely  upon.  You  have  no  rock 
under  your  feet.  But  the  humblest,  feeblest  Christian 
has  that  which  is  impossible  to  you.  Callista  had 
once  felt  the  misery  of  maladies  akin  to  yours.  She 
had  passed  through  doubt,  anxiety,  perplexity,  despon- 
dency, passion  ;  but  now  she  was  in  peace.  Now  she 
feared  the  torture  or  the  flame  as  little  as  the  breeze 
which  arose  at  nightfall,  or  the  busy  chatter  of  the 
grasshoppers  at  the  noonday.  Nay,  rather,  she  did 
not  think  of  torture  and  death  at  all,  but  was  pos- 
sessed by  a  peace  which  bore  her  up,  as  if  bodily,  on 
its  mighty  wings.  For  hours  she  remained  on  her 
knees,  after  Caecilius  left  her  :  then  she  lay  down  on 
her  rushes  and  slept  her  last  mortal  sleep. 

She  slept  sound ;  she  dreamed.  She  thought  she 
was  no  longer  in  Africa,  but  in  her  own  Greece,  more 
sunny  and  bright  than  before ;  but  the  inhabitants 
were  gone.  Its  majestic  mountains,  its  rich  plains,  its 
expanse  of  waters,  all  silent :  no  one  to  converse  with, 
193 


194  CALLISTA'S  VISION. 

no  one  to  sympathize  with.  And,  as  she  wandered  on 
and  wondered,  suddenly  its  face  changed,  and  its 
colours  were  illuminated  tenfold  by  a  heavenly  glory, 
and  each  hue  upon  the  scene  was  of  a  beauty  she  had 
never  known,  and  seemed  strangely  to  affect  all  her 
senses  at  once,  being  fragrance  and  music,  as  well  as 
light.  And  there  came  out  of  the  grottos,  and  glens, 
and  woods,  and  out  of  the  seas,  myriads  of  bright 
images,  whose  forms  she  could  not  discern  ;  and  these 
came  all  around  her,  and  became  a  sort  of  scene  or 
landscape,  which  she  could  not  have  described  in 
words,  as  if  it  were  a  world  of  spirits,  not  of  matter. 
And  as  she  gazed,  she  thought  she  saw  before  her  a 
well-known  face,  only  glorified.  She,  who  had  been 
a  slave,  now  was  arrayed  more  brilliantly  than  an 
oriental  queen ;  and  she  looked  at  Callista  with  a 
smile  so  sweet,  that  Callista  felt  she  could  but  dance 
to  it. 

And  as  she  looked  more  earnestly,  doubting  whether 
she  should  begin  or  not,  the  face  changed,  and  now 
was  more  marvellous  still.  It  had  an  innocence  in  its 
look,  and  also  a  tenderness,  which  bespoke  both  Maid 
and  Mother,  and  so  transported  Callista,  that  she  must 
needs  advance  towards  her,  out  of  love  and  reverence. 
And  the  Lady  seemed  to  make  signs  of  encourage- 
ment :  so  she  began  a  solemn  measure,  unlike  all 
dances  of  earth,  with  hands  and  feet,  serenely  moving 
on  towards  what  she  heard  some  of  them  call  a  great 
action  and  a  glorious  consummation,  though  she  did 
not  know  what  they  meant.  At  length  she  was  fain  to 
sing  as  well  as  dance ;  and  her  words  were,  "  In  the 
Name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy 


CALLISTA'S  VISION.  195 

Ghost ; "  on  which  another  said,  "  A  good  beginning 
of  the  sacrifice."  And  when  she  had  come  close  to 
this  gracious  figure,  there  was  a  fresh  change.  The 
face,  the  features  were  the  same  ;  but  the  light  of  Di- 
vinity now  seemed  to  beam  through  them,  and  the 
hair  parted,  and  hung  down  long  on  each  side  of  the 
forehead ;  and  there  was  a  crown  of  another  fashion 
from  the  Lady's  round  about  it,  made  of  what  looked 
like  thorns.  And  the  palms  of  the  hands  were  spread 
out  as  if  towards  her,  and  there  were  marks  of  wounds 
in  them.  And  the  vestment  had  fallen,  and  there  was 
a  deep  opening  in  the  side.  And  as  she  stood  en- 
tranced before  Him,  and  motionless,  she  felt  a  con- 
sciousness that  her  own  palms  were  pierced  like  His, 
and  her  feet  also.  And  she  looked  round,  and  saw 
the  likeness  of  His  face  and  of  His  wounds  upon  all 
that  company.  And  now  they  were  suddenly  moving 
on,  and  bearing  something,  or  some  one,  heaven- 
wards ;  and  they  too  began  to  sing,  and  their  words 
seemed  to  be,  "  Rejoice  with  Me,  for  I  have  found  My 
sheep,"  ever  repeated.  They  went  up  through  an 
avenue  or  long  grotto,  with  torches  of  diamonds,  and 
amethysts,  and  sapphires,  which  lit  up  its  spars  and 
made  them  sparkle.  And  she  tried  to  look,  but  could 
not  discover  what  they  were  carrying,  till  she  heard 
a  very  piercing  cry,  which  awoke  her. — Callista,  ed. 
1856,  chap.  xxxi.  (1855). 


NOTES. 

i. — Site  of  a  University.  This  selection  is  taken  from  the  third 
chapter  of  the  Rise  and  Progress  of  Universities,  a  series  of  papers 
originally  -  published  in  Dublin  in  1854,  under  the  title  Office  and 
Work  of  Universities,  to  supplement  Newman's  more  formal  and 
elaborate  Discourses  on  University  Teaching  (1852).  Throughout 
these  papers,  Newman's  manner  and  method  are  characteristic.  He 
makes  no  parade  of  logical  divisions  or  of  abstract  definitions ; 
he  is  unpretentious,  almost  colloquial  in  style ;  he  has,  as  he  says 
of  himself  in  the  Apologia,  "a  lounging,  free-and-easy  way  of 
carrying  things  on."  Yet  despite  this  ease,  unpretentiousness,  lack 
of  formality,  and  apparent  aimlessness,  he  guides  the  reader  un- 
erringly to  a  perfect  intellectual  possession  of  the  subject  under 
discussion.  He  takes  up  in  a  pleasantly  familiar  tone  one  after 
another  of  the  great  Universities  and  describes  the  characteristic- 
ally good  points  in  each;  and  in  this  seemingly  unsystematic 
fashion  he  gives  the  reader,  without  wearying  him,  a  thorough 
comprehension  of  the  aims  and  the  ideal  conditions  of  University 
life.  Later  chapters  are  Free  Trade  in  Knowledge — the  Sophists  : 
Discipline, — Macedonian  and  Jfoman  Schools  :  Supply  and  Demand 
— the  Schoolmen  :  Professors  and  Tutors. 

4  : 8. — A  confined  triangle.  The  passage  that  follows  is  a  re- 
markable bit  of  descriptive  writing.  The  reader  should  note  the 
skilful  definition  of  the  outlines  of  the  scene,  the  constant  use  of 
sensations  other  than  those  of  sight,  the  sensitive  registration  of 
motions  of  various  kinds,  the  continuous  emphasis  on  details  that 
a  painter  would  be  powerless  to  reproduce,  and  finally  the  breadth 
of  handling  by  means  of  which  details  are  made  constantly  subor- 
dinate to  total  effect.  All  these  points  in  Newman's  method  con- 
tribute to  the  life,  vivacity,  symmetry,  and  imaginative  glow  of  the 


198  NOTES. 

description.  The  easy  air  of  mastery  is  also  characteristic  of  New- 
man ;  the  tone  never  grows  artificial  and  the  note  is  never  forced. 
The  tone  is  almost  colloquial  throughout,  and  at  the  very  climax 
of  the  description  Newman  does  not  hesitate  to  make  his  "  agent 
of  a  London  Company  "  "  bless  his  stars." 

11  :  i. —  To-day  I  have  confined  myself.  This  is  an  extract  from 
the  seventh  of  the  nine  Discourses  on  University  Teaching  that 
Newman  delivered  in  1852  to  the  Catholics  of  Dublin.  Newman's 
task  was  two-fold :  first,  to  win  over  prelates  and  gentry  to  thor- 
ough sympathy  with  the  plan  for  the  higher  education  of  Catho- 
lics; secondly,  to  organize  the  new  institution  and  to  determine 
its  aims  and  policy.  He  remained  Rector  of  the  University  down 
to  1858,  when  he  returned  to  England,  taking  up  his  residence  at 
Birmingham,  where  the  rest  of  his  life  was  spent.  It  should  be 
borne  in  mind,  in  reading  these  extracts,that  one  important  part  of 
Newman's  task  was  to  prove  to  rather  narrowly  religious  ecclesi- 
astics the  need  of  general  culture  and  of  a  knowledge  of  the  world. 
Accordingly,  while  a  large  part  of  the  Discourses  is  devoted  to 
demonstrating  the  incompleteness  of  any  curriculum  that  refuses 
to  recognize  theology  as  a  science  and  to  include  theological  truth 
as  a  legitimate  subject  of  study,  yet  Newman  never  forgets  that 
he  is  also  championing  liberal  knowledge  both  against  the  prej  u- 
dice  of  bigots  and  against  the  utilitarian  objections  of  the  prac- 
tical man.  These  discourses  illustrate  strikingly  the  range  of 
Newman's  sympathies.  He  appreciates  the  good  in  all  modes  of 
life  and  types  of  character,  while  never  for  a  moment  falling  into 
the  dilettante's  fallacy  that  all  lives  or  all  characters  are  equally 
good. 

14  :  I. — Pride  under  such  training. — Newman's  insight  into 
the  springs  of  human  action,  his  skill  in  tracing  out  the  interplay 
of  motives,  his  intuitive  knowledge  of  the  structure  and  working 
of  individual  minds  and  hearts  were  important  sources  of  his  power 
oyer  men.  His  works  are  full  of  evidences  of  this  subtle  compre- 
hension of  character.  Sometimes  he  analyzes  a  mood,  explaining 
minutely  its  origin  and  its  reaction  in  conduct  and  life.  See,  for  ex- 
ample, his  account  of  detachment  in  chap.  xi.  of  the  Rise  and  Prog- 
ress of  Universities.  Sometimes,  as  in  the  text,  he  follows  out  a 
single  quality  in  all  its  ramifications.  Sometimes  he  develops  a 


NOTES. 


199 


type  of  character  in  all  its  details  of  feeling  and  thought  and 
action.  See,  for  example,  in  the  present  extract  the  description 
of  the  gentleman  and  in  the  preceding  extract  the  description  of 
the  cultivated  man  of  the  world.  In  all  these  cases  Newman's 
complete  mastery  of  the  details  of  moral  life  is  conspicuous,  and 
illustrates  both  the  intensity  of  his  imaginative  sympathy  with 
souls  and  the  keenness  of  his  analysis. 

19. — Knowledge.  .  .  .  Learning.  In  the  first  four  of  his  Dis- 
courses on  University  Teaching  Newman  argues  for  the  inclusion 
of  theology  in  a  university  curriculum.  Science,  he  maintains,  is 
an  organic  whole  made  up  of  many  complementary  parts,  of  which 
parts  theology  is  the  most  important.  A  university,  then,  that 
excludes  theology  from  its  list  of  studies  offers  its  students  not 
simply  incomplete  knowledge,  but  mutilated  knowledge  ;  the  truth 
that  is  left  after  theology  is  taken  away  is  weakened  and  vitiated 
throughout,  and  cannot  perfectly  fulfil  its  functions,  because  it 
lacks  the  aid  of  the  missing  parts.  In  his  plea  for  theology  New- 
man is  contending  against  the  ideal  of  education  in  accordance 
with  which  London  University  had  been  founded  in  1825-8.  Cf. 
Notes  88  :  5.  A  suggestive  argument  for  this  unecclesiastical  ideal 
may  be  found  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  of  Feb.,  1826.  Regarded 
still  more  comprehensively,  Newman's  plea  for  theology  is  meant 
to  counteract  anti-dogmatic  theories  of  religion  which  teach  that  re- 
ligion is  merely  a  matter  of  feeling,  that  nothing  certain  can  be 
known  about  God  or  the  future  life,  and  that  one  set  of  ideas 
about  the  unseen  world  is  as  good  as  another,  provided  each  be 
held  sincerely  and  conduce  on  the  whole  to  morality.  Finally, 
Newman's  plea  for  theology  was  sure  to  win  for  him  the  sympathy 
and  confidence  of  even  the  most  conservative  of  the  Catholic  ec- 
clesiastics whom  he  was  addressing,  and  to  conciliate  their  favor 
for  the  new  university.  To  plead  for  theology,  then,  was  the  first 
part  of  Newman's  task.  The  second  part  was  to  .convince  his 
hearers,  many  of  whom  were  almost  fanatical  in  their  adherence  to 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church  and  in  their  intense  distrust  of  the 
tendencies  of  modern  science,  that  a  liberal  education  is  essential 
to  fit  men  for  the  best  kind  of  life.  To  this  end  he  devotes  Dis- 
courses V.-  VIII.  The  fifth  Discourse  demonstrates  that  know- 
ledge is  its  own  end,  and  is  to  be  pursued,  not  because  of  its 


200  NOTES. 

practical  value  in  the  mechanical  arts,  or  because  of  its  ameli- 
orating effect  on  character,  but  simply  and  solely  because  of  the 
infinite  desirableness  for  every  individual  of  being  able  to  com- 
prehend "  the  relative  disposition  of  things,"  and  "  to  map  out 
the  universe."  This  disinterested  knowledge  of  things  in  their 
causes  is  shown  to  be  the  end  of  Liberal  Education.  Such  Liberal 
Knowledge  is  then  discriminated  from  Useful  Knowledge,  which 
aims  to  minimize  bodily  discomforts  and  to  supply  temporal 
wants.  At  this  point  the  passage  on  Bacon  occurs,  which  is 
quoted,  p.  41.  Then  follows  Discourse  VI.,  most  of  which  is  given 
in  the  present  Selection.  The  extracts,  pp.  1  1,  14,  and  44,  are  from 
these  same  Discourses,  and  are  parts  of  a  continuous  plea  for  the 
value  of  a  liberal  education  in  forming  a  man  for  his  proper  place 
in  the  world. 

28  :  19.  —  The  world  is  all  before  it.  An  adaptation  of  the  fourth 
line  from  the  end  of  the  Paradise  Lost  : 

The  world  was  all  before  them,  where  to  choose 
Their  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  their  guide." 

28  :  30.  —  The  judgment-stricken  king.  See  the  Baccha  of 
Euripides,  918-9.  Pentheus,  King  of  Thebes,  who  has  defied 
Dionysus,  and  has  been  smitten  with  madness,  speaks  : 

Kal  /XT/V  opav  fj.01  860  fdv  TJXfovs  SOKU, 
Kal 


1  Lo,  I  seem  to  see  two  suns  and  a  double  Thebes  as  well,  the 
city  of  seven  gates.' 

34  :  28.  —  Terpdyaiios.  See  Aristotle,  Eth.  N.,  I.,  x.,  1  1  :  dei  yap 
f//idXurra  Trdvruv  irpd£ti  Kal  Oewpififffi  ra  KO.T  dper^v,  Kal  rds  rtixa* 
olirei  (cdXXwra  Kal  irdvri}  irdvruis  ^u/xeXws  8  7'  wj  d\t)6us  dyafffa  Kal 
TfTpdyuvos  avev  \f/6yov.  'For  most  persistently  and  strenuously  of 
all  men  will  he  pursue  in  deed  and  thought  the  things  of  virtue, 
and  endure  the  chances  of  life  most  nobly  and  most  fittingly,  — 
that  man,  I  mean,  who  is  truly  good  and  four-square  without 
flaw.' 

Aristotle  and  his  followers  are  called  the  Peripatetics,  because 


NOTES.  201 

the  master  is  supposed  to  have  lectured  to  his  pupils  while  walk- 
ing about  in  the  courts  of  the  Lyceum. 

34  :  28. — Nil  admirari.  See  Zeller's  account  of  the  ethics  of 
the  Stoics,  in  Zeller's  Stoics,  Epicureans,  etc.,  Reichel's  translation, 
pp.  235-7  :  "  The  right  relation,  therefore,  towards  emotions — in- 
deed, the  only  one  morally  tenable — is  an  attitude  of  absolute 
hostility.  The  wise  man  must  be  emotionless."  Cf.  Horace, 
Epistles  i.  6: 

"  Nil  admirari  prope  res  est  una,  Numici, 
Solaque,  quae  possit  facere  et  servare  beatum." 

'  To  shun  emotion  is  the  sole  way,  Numicius,  to  win  to  happi- 
ness and  to  retain  it.' 

For  the  name  Stoic  see  Notes  90  :  3. 

34  :  30. — Felix  qui  potuit.     From  Virgil's   Georgics,   II.,  490-2. 

'  Happy  is  he  who  has  come  to  know  the  sequences  of  things, 
and  is  thus  above  all  fear,  master  of  the  dread  march  of  fate,  and 
careless  of  the  wild  noise  of  greedy  Acheron.' 

41:  ii. — True  to  his  friend.  The  allusion  is  to  Bacon's  faith- 
lessness to  his  early  patron,  the  Earl  of  Essex.  At  the  Queen's 
request  Bacon  drew  up  the  charges  against  Essex  when  he  was 
put  on  trial  for  treason,  and  conducted  the  case  against  him  with 
such  vigor  as  to  secure  his  conviction  and  execution.  The  pre- 
cise degree  of  blame  attaching  to  Bacon's  conduct  is  still  debated. 

41  :  1 1 . — Faithful  in  his  trust.  Bacon  was  tried  and  condemned 
for  bribery  and  forced  to  resign  his  post  as  Lord  Chancellor  in 
1621. 

41  :  18. — Idols  of  the  den.  See  Bacon's  Novum  Organum  : 
Works,  Ed.  Spedding,  Boston,  1868,  VIII.,  76-8.  "  There  are  four 
classes  of  Idols  which  beset  men's  minds.  To  these  for  distinc- 
tion's sake  I  have  assigned  names, — calling  the  first  class,  Idols  of 
the  Tribe  ;  the  second,  Idols  of  the  Cave;  the  third,  Idols  of  the 
Marketplace;  the  fourth,  Idols  of  the  Theatre?  .  .  . 

"  The  Idols  of  the  Tribe  have  their  foundation  in  human  nature 
itself,  and  in  the  tribe  or  race  of  men.  .  .  .  The  human  under- 
standing is  like  a  false  mirror,  which,  receiving  rays  irregularly, 
distorts  and  discolours  the  nature  of  things  by  mingling  its  own 
nature  with  it."  .  .  . 


202  NOTES. 

"  The  Idols  of  the  Cave  are  the  idols  of  the  individual  man. 
For  every  one  ....  has  a  cave  or  den  of  his  own,  which  refracts 
and  discolours  the  light  of  nature." .  .  . 

"  There  are  also  Idols  formed  by  the  intercourse  and  association 
of  men  with  each  other,  which  I  call  Idols  of  the  Market-place, 
on  account  of  the  commerce  and  consort  of  men  there." 

"  Lastly,  there  are  Idols  which  have  immigrated  into  men's 
minds  from  the  various  dogmas  of  philosophies,  and  also  from 
wrong  laws  of  demonstration.  These  I  call  Idols  of  the  Theatre  ; 
because  in  my  judgment  all  the  received  systems  are  but  so  many 
stage-plays,  representing  worlds  of  their  own  creation  after  an  un- 
real and  scenic  fashion." 

41 :  23. — /  agree  with  Lord  Macaulay.  See  Macaulay's  essay 
on  Lord  Bacon,  originally  published  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  for 
July,  1837.  "  The  philosophy  which  [Bacon]  taught  was  essentially 
new.  It  differed  from  that  of  the  celebrated  ancient  teachers,  not 
merely  in  method,  but  also  in  object.  Its  object  was  the  good  of 
mankind,  in  the  sense  in  which  the  mass  of  mankind  always  have 
understood  and  always  will  understand  the  word  good."  .... 
"  What  then  was  the  end  which  Bacon  proposed  to  himself  ?  It 
was,  to  use  his  own  emphatic  expression,  '  fruit.'  It  was  the  mul- 
tiplying of  human  enjoyments  and  the  mitigating  of  human  suf- 
ferings. .  .  .  Two  words  form  the  key  of  the  Baconian  doctrine 
Utility  and  Progress."  Macaulay's  panegyric  on  the  Philosophy  of 
Utility  is  often  urged  in  proof  of  his  Philistinism.  See  Morison'si 
Life  of  Macaulay,  chap,  iii.,  and  Leslie  Stephen's  Hours  in  a 
Library,  3d  series.  With  Macaulay's  sneers  at  the  "  cant,"  the 
"  sterile  exuberance,"  the  "  unprofitableness  "  of  Platonism  and 
Aristotelianism,  Newman  could  not  have  sympathized ;  nor  would 
Macaulay  have  agreed  with  what  Newman  says  of  the  "  low  aim" 
and  the  "  intellectual  narrowness"  of  the  Baconian  school  of 
thought. 

44  :  i. — Here,  then  ....  you  are  involved.  This  extract,  and 
the  following  one  on  St.  Philip  Neri,  come  at  the  very  end  of  the 
last,  or  ninth,  of  the  Discourses  on  University  Teaching.  In  Dis- 
courses V.—  VIII.  Newman  has  vindicated  the  rights  of  Liberal 
Education,  and  has  shown  that  knowledge  is  worth  pursuing  for 
its  own  sake,  apart  from  its  effects  upon  character  or  from  its 


NOTES.  203 

practical  results.  Now,  in  closing,  he  devotes  a  Discourse  to  de- 
fining the  duties  of  the  Church  toward  knowledge.  He  divides 
all  secular  knowledge  into  Science  or  the  Book  of  Nature,  and 
Literature  or  the  Book  of  Man,  and  considers  the  duties  of  the 
Church  toward  each.  In  relation  to  Science  the  Church  must  be 
on  the  watch  to  hold  in  check  "  the  wild  living  intellect  of  man." 
The  Church  must  defend  theology  against  men  of  Science,  who  are 
ever  ready  to  judge  of  things  divine  by  human  standards  and  to 
exalt  observation  and  experiment  into  the  sole  tests  of  truth.  The 
Church  must  make  good  for  Theology  a  place  among  the  Sciences ; 
it  must  secure  to  Theology  its  own  methods  of  study  and  criteria  of 
truth,  and,  above  all,  must  prevent  the  insidious  encroachments  of 
private  judgment  and  rationalism  upon  the  domain  of  revelation. 
The  duty  of  the  Church  toward  the  second  division  of  knowledge, 
Literature,  is  defined  in  the  text. 

45  :  17. — Quicquid  agunt.     See  Juvenal,  Satires,  I.,  85-6: 

"  Quidquid  agunt  homines,  votum,  timor,  ira,  voluptas, 
Gaudia,  discursus,  nostri  est  farrago  libelli." 

"  What  ever  since  that  Golden  Age  was  done, 
What  human  kind  desires,  and  what  they  shun, 
Rage,  passions,  pleasures,  impotence  of  will. 
Shall  this  satirical  collection  fill." 

Dryden. 

46  :  ^.—Jabel    and  Tubalcain.     See    Gen.    iv.    20-2.     Jabal, — 
Vulgate,  Jabel, — "  was  the  father  of  such  as  dwell  in  tents,  and  of 
such  as  have  cattle."     Tubal-cain  was  "  an  instructor  of  every 
artificer  in  brass  and  iron." 

46  :  9. — Beseleel.  See  Exodus  xxxi.,  2.  Bezaleel, — Vulgate, 
Beseleel, — was  one  of  the  makers  of  the  tabernacle. 

51  :  i. — Such  at  least  is  the  lesson.  The  reference  is  to  the  last 
paragraph  of  the  preceding  Selection. 

51  :  5. — St.  Philip  Neri  (1515-1595)-  He  spent  most  of  his 
life  at  Rome.  He  was  the  founder  of  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Ora- 
tory. Despite  his  far-reaching  influence  over  men  he  took  no 
part  in  public  affairs.  Almost  his  sole  interference  in  such  mat- 
ters is  said  to  have'  been  on  the  occasion  of  Pope  Clement's  re- 
fusal to  be  reconciled  with  Henry  IV.  of  France  on  the  latter's 


204  NOTES. 

abjuration  of  Calvinism.  It  was  owing  to  Neri's  influence  on  the 
Pope  through  the  Pope's  confessor  that  Clement  VIII.  was  led 
to  receive  Henry  once  more  into  the  Church.  See  Bacci's  Life 
of  St.  Philip  Neri,  translated  by  F.  W.  Faber,  London,  1847,  and 
Faber's  Spirit  and  Genius  of  St.  Philip  JVeri,  London,  1850.  St. 
Philip  was  Newman's  ideal.  Soon  after  joining  the  Catholic 
Church  Newman  was  received  into  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Ora- 
tory, and  the  last  thirty-two  years  of  his  life  (1858-90)  were  spent 
in  the  Edgbaston  Oratory,  Birmingham. 

55  :  i. —  The  author  of  the  Christian  Year.  John  Keble  (1792- 
1866)  took  double  first-class  honors  at  Oxford  in  1811,  was  at 
once  elected  fellow  of  Oriel  College,  and  remained  at  Oxford, 
filling  various  positions,  till  1823.  In  this  year,  on  the  death  of 
his  mother,  he  left  Oxford  to  make  his  home  with  his  father,  at 
Fairford,  Gloucestershire,  where  he  remained,  refusing  offers  of 
promotion  in  the  Church,  until  his  father's  death  in  1835.  In  this 
same  year  he  was  married,  and  in  1836  he  was  made  vicar  of 
Hursley  in  Hampshire,  where  he  spent  the  rest  of  his  life  fulfill- 
ing the  duties  of  the  priest  of  a  country  parish.  His  Christian 
Year  was  published  anonymously  in  1827.  By  1867  it  had  passed 
through  109  editions,  each  numbering  3,000  or  5,000  copies.  In 
1846  was  published  his  second  important  book  of  verse,  Lyra 
Innocentium  ;  it  is  from  Newman's  review  of  this  volume  that 
the  extract  in  the  text  is  taken.  Keble  wrote  seven  of  the  Tracts 
for  the  Times,  edited  Hooker's  Works,  and  published  a  volume  of 
lectures  on  poetry,  which  he  had  delivered  during  his  tenure  of 
the  Professorship  of  Poetry  at  Oxford,  1831-41. 

55  :  3. — Ken  and  Herbert.  Ken  (1637-1711)  was  Bishop  of 
Bath  and  Wells  from  1685  to  1691.  He  was  fearless  towards 
princes, — witness  his  treatment  of  William  II.  of  Holland,  Charles 
II.  and  James  II.  of  England, — and  utterly  self-forgetful  in  his 
devotion  to  the  needs  of  his  people.  "  His  Morning  and  Evening 
Hymns,"  Macaulay  has  said,  "  are  still  repeated  daily  in  thousands 
of  dwellings."  The  Tractarians  held  him  in  high  reverence. 
Tract  Ixxv.  contained  a  special  service  in  his  memory  drawn  up 
by  Newman,  and  two  of  Isaac  Williams's  poems  were  devoted  to 
his  honor.  George  Herbert  (1593-1633)  was  rector  of  Bemerton, 
near  Salisbury,  from  1629  to  1633,  and  author  of  the  Temple  (1633). 


NOTES.  205 

His  best-known  poem  begins  "  Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so 
bright."  Other  familiar  poems  are  "  I  made  a  posie  while  the 
day  ran  by,"  and  "  Who  is  the  honest  man  ?  "  The  latter  may 
have  suggested  Wordsworth's  "  Who  is  the  happy  warrior  ? " 

56  :  27. — Socinianism.     Lxlius  Socinus   and  Faustus  Socinus, 
uncle  and  nephew,  were  Italians,  who  during  the  latter  part  of  the 
sixteenth  century  did  much  to  spraad  anti-Trinitarian  doctrines. 
Socinianism  stands  in  the  text  for  a  rationalizing  religion,  a  re- 
ligion devoid  of  mystery  and  appealing  solely  to  the  intellect. 

57  :  20 — Miraturque  novas  frondes  et  non  sua  poma.     '  The  tree 
marvels  at  strange  foliage  and  fruit  not  its  own.'     The  quotation  is 
from  Virgil's  Georgics,  II.,  81,  where  the  poet  is  describing  the 
process  of  grafting. 

61  :  14. — He  hated  ....  heresy.  "  He  delighted  to  see  his 
little  nephew  under  his  teaching  snapping  at  all  the  Roundheads, 
and  kissing  all  the  Cavaliers."  (Tulloch's  Movements  of  Religious 
Thought,  Lecture  iii.)  "  A  member  of  a  family  with  which  he  had 

been  intimate  had  adopted  Liberal  opinions  in  theology 

He  came  to  call  one  day  when  the  erring  brother  happened  to  be 
at  home  and  learning  that  he  was  in  the  house,  he  refused  to 
enter,  and  remained  sitting  in  the  porch."  Froude's  Short 
Studies,  IV.,  176. 

62:8\—  The  first  Whig.  "The  first  Whig  was  the  Devil." 
BosweW  s  Johnson,  ed.  G.  B.  Hill,  III.,  326. 

62:  18. — Doctrines  of  7776.  Neither  Keble  nor  Newman  had 
the  faith  in  human  nature  that  underlies  modern  democratic 
theories.  See  the  famous  passage  in  the  Apologia,  describing 
fallen  humanity  :  "  I  look  out  of  myself  into  the  world  of  men, 
and  there  I  see  a  sight  which  fills  me  with  unspeakable  distress. 
....  The  sight  of  the  world  is  nothing  else  than  the  prophet's 
scroll,  full  of  'lamentations,  and  mourning,  and  woe.'  "  Selec- 
tions, p.  1 60. 

64  :  20. —  The  new  fashion.  This  "  new  fashion  "  is,  of  course, 
the  Tractarian  mode  of  thought.  The  Selection  suggests  the 
view  that  worldly-wise  Dons  took  of  the  Tractarian  agitation. 
Loss  and  Gain  :  The  Story  of  a  Convert,  was  published  anony- 
mously in  1848.  Newman's  name  was  placed  on  the  title-page  in 
1874.  The  book  gives  a  remarkably  sympathetic  and  suggestive 


2o6  NOTES. 

picture  of  Oxford  life  during  the  years  when  the  ideas  of  the 
Tractarians  were  finding  lodgment  and  fructifying  in  the  best 
minds. 

67  :  6. — In  the  Edinburgh.  The  criticisms  of  the  Edinburgh 
Review  upon  Oxford  were  for  a  time  very  searching  and  severe. 
They  were  probably  in  part  provoked  by  a  clever  skit,  called 
Advice  to  a  Young  Reviewer*  with  a  Specimen  of  the  Art,  which 
had  been  published  at  Oxford  in  1807  by  Copleston,  University 
Professor  of  Poetry.  In  the  Edinburgh  for  Jan.,  1808,  Lord 
Brougham  in  a  review  of  La  Place  made  the  charge  that  Oxford 
undergraduates  had  no  opportunity  of  going  "  beyond  the  mere 
elements  of  geometry "  in  their  study  of  mathematics.  In  the 
number  for  July,  1809,  Payne  Knight  assailed  the  recent  Oxford 
edition  of  Strabo,  ridiculed  its  Latinity  and  made  it  the  pretext 
of  a  severe  attack  on  the  laziness  and  amateurishness  of  Oxford 
scholarship  and  on  the  limitations  of  its  curriculum.  In  the  Oc- 
tober number  for  1809,  Sydney  Smith,  in  the  course  of  a  favor- 
able notice  of  Edgeworth's  Professional  Education,  blamed  the 
Oxford  training  for  its  disregard  of  the  needs  of  practical  life,  and 
its  blindly  reverential  insistence  on  a  dry-as-dust  classical  scholar- 
ship. In  1810,  these  articles  provoked  from  the  pen  of  Dr.  Cople- 
ston an  elaborate  defence  of  Oxford  methods,  published  under 
the  title,  Replies  to  the  Calumnies  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  against 
Oxford.  In  April,  1810,  Playfair,  Sydney  Smith,  and  Payne 
Knight  united  in  a  satirical  review  of  Dr.  Copleston's  Replies. 
The  reviewers  admitted  that  they  had  hardly  taken  into  account 
the  Oxford  Reforms  of  1802,  but  contended  that  nevertheless 
their  charges  of  neglect  of  the  sciences  and  of  amateurishness  in 
scholarship  were  just. 

Like  most  of  the  Edinburgh1  s  attacks  on  "  things  as  they  were," 
the  Oxford  articles  made  at  the  time  a  great  stir ;  and  although 
after  1821  the  Edinburgh  took  a  much  friendlier  tone  toward  the 
University,  the  memory  of  the  earlier  articles  still  rankled  in  the 
breasts  of  the  dons.  It  should  be  noted  that  Dr.  Copleston  was 
for  many  years  (1814-1826)  the  Provost  of  Newman's  old  college, 
Oriel.  Cf.  Newman's  eloquent  tribute  to  him  in  the  Idea  of  a 
University ^  ed.  1891,  pp.  154-8.  It  was  a  favourite  charge  that  at- 
tacks on  Oxford  came  from  the  pens  of  disappointed  aspirants 


NOTES.  207 

for  honors.  In  his  Introduction,  for  example,  Copleston  asserts 
that  most  of  the  abuse  of  Oxford  proceeds  from  "  that  hireling 
tribe  of  turncoats,  who,  disappointed  of  honours  or  rewards  here 
adequate  to  their  own  fancied  merits,  have  carried  over  to  the 
enemy,  as  the  most  acceptable  passport,  some  local  informa- 
tion, and  have  courted  the  favor  of  their  new  employers,  by  mean 
detraction  aud  extravagant  abuse  of  their  former  friends."  Sim- 
ilarly, in  his  Autobiographical  Memoir  for  1821,  Newman  speaks 
of  certain  strictures  on  Oxford  in  the  July  number  of  the  Edin- 
burgh, and  notes  the  fact  that  the  writer  of  the  article  was  a  few 
months  before  the  unsuccessful  candidate  for  an  Oriel  fellowship. 
Letters  and  Correspondence,  I.,  65.  For  Newman's  account  of  the 
earlier  attacks  of  the  Edinburgh  on  Oxford  and  of  Copleston's 
reply,  see  his  Idea  of  a  University,  ed.  1891,  pp.  153-8. 

68  :  I. — Mr.  Kingsley  begins.  This  extract  is  taken  from  the 
concluding  part  of  Mr.  Kingsley  and  Dr.  Newman  :  a  Correspond- 
ence, with  which  the  original  editions  of  the  Apologia  opened.  In 
subsequent  editions  the  correspondence  was  omitted. 

The  words  of  Kingsley  that  led  to  the  controversy  were  a.s 
follows : — "  Truth  for  its  own  sake  had  never  been  a  virtue  with 
the  Roman  clergy.  Father  Newman  informs  us  that  it  need  not 
be,  and  on  the  whole  ought  not  to  be  ;  that  cunning  is  the  weapon 
which  Heaven  has  given  to  the  saints  wherewith  to  withstand  the 
brute  male  force  of  the  wicked  world  which  marries  and  is  given 
in  marriage.  Whether  his  notion  be  doctrinally  correct  or  not,  it 
is  at  least  historically  so."  This  passage  occurred  in  an  unsigned 
review  of  Froude's  History  of  England  in  Mac millan's  Magazine 
for  January,  1864.  Newman  at  once  wrote  to  the  editor,  protesting 
against  the  passage.  Kingsley  acknowledged  the  authorship  of 
the  article  and  referred  in  justification  of  his  charge  to  a  sermon 
on  Wisdom  and  Innocence,  which  Newman  had  preached  at  Ox- 
ford, in  1843.  After  an  exchange  of  several  letters,  Kingsley 
finally  consented  to  insert  in  Macmillan's  Magazine  for  February, 
1864,  the  following  note  : — 

"  To  the  Editor  of  Macmillan's  Magazine. 

Sir :  In  your  last  number  I  made  certain  allegations  against 
the  teaching  of  Dr.  John  Henry  Newman,  which  I  thought  were 
justified  by  a  sermon  of  his,  entitled  '  Wisdom  and  Innocence.' 


208  NOTES. 

(Sermon  20  of  '  Sermons  bearing  on  Subjects  of  the  Day.')  Dr. 
Newman  has  by  letter  expressed,  in  the  strongest  terms,  his  denial 
of  the  meaning  which  I  have  put  upon  his  words.  It  only  remains, 
therefore,  for  me  to  express  my  hearty  regret  at  having  so  seriously 
mistaken  him." 

Newman,  who  was  by  no  means  content  with  this  explanation, 
forthwith  published  the  entire  correspondence  between  Kingsley 
and  himself,  adding,  as  his  sole  comment,  an  ironical  sum- 
mary. By  way  of  rejoinder,  Kingsley  published  an  excessively 
bitter  pamphlet,  What  then  does  Dr.Newman  mean  ?  in  which  while 
nominally  professing  to  believe  in  Newman's  truthfulness,  he 
substantially  charges  him  with  systematic  duplicity,  with  mis- 
representation and  falsehood.  It  was  in  answer  to  this  pamphlet 
that  the  Apologia  was  written ;  the  line  of  thought  that  led  to  its 
composition,  is  traced  in  the  extract,  pp.  79-82.  Newman's  ironical 
summary  of  his  correspondence  with  Kingsley  is  given  in  the 
Selections,  p.  68. 

70  :  31. — Alfonso  da  Liguori  (1696-1787).  He  was  a  famous 
Roman  Catholic  casuist,  author  of  many  works  for  the  guidance 
both  of  laity  and  of  clergy  in  delicate  questions  of  conscience.  A 
full  account  of  his  teachings  may  be  found  in  the  Encyclopedia 
Britannica,  art.  Liguori. 

75  :  5. — For  twenty  years  and  more.     In  a  letter  of  1864,  New- 
man speaks  of  having  been  subject  to  lying  attacks  ever  since 
1833,  the  year  when   the  Tractarian  movement  began.     In  the 
present  passage  the  date  that  he  has  in  mind  is  probably  that  of 
the  publication  of  Tract  xc.,  i.e.,  1841.     His  interpretation  of  the 
thirty-nine  articles  was  vehemently  assailed  as  conscious  prevari- 
cation, and  wilful  misconstruction. 

76  :  16. — Stonyhurst  or  Oscott.      Stonyhurst,  in  Lancashire,  is  a 
boy's  college,  "  the  Catholic  Eton  ;"  it  celebrated  its  centenary  in 
July,  1894.     Near  Oscott,  a  village  four  miles  from  Birmingham, 
is  St.  Mary's  Roman  Catholic  College. 

83  :  4.  Some  such  Apostasy.  Cf.  Newman's  declarations  in 
the  first  chapter  of  the  Apologia  :  "The  vital  question  was,  how 
were  we  to  keep  the  Church  from  being  liberalized  ?"...."  It 
was  the  success  of  the  Liberal  cause  that  fretted  me  inwardly." 
In  his  notes  at  the  end  of  the  Apologia,  Newman  enumerates 


NOTES.  209 

eighteen  propositions  characteristic  of  Liberal  theology,  to  all  of 
which  he  objects.  Among  them  are  the  following: 

"  No  religious  tenet  is  important  unless  reason  shows  it  to  be 
so." 

"  No  one  can  believe  what  he  does  not  understand." 
"  No  theological  doctrine  is  anything  more  than  an  opinion 
which  happens  to  be  held  by  bodies  of  men." 
"  There  is  a  right  of  Private  Judgment." 
"  It  is  lawful  to  rise  in  arjps  against  legitimate  princes." 
"  The  people  are  the  legitimate  source  of  power." 
"  Virtue  is  the  child  of  knowledge  and  Vice  of  ignorance." 
84  :  ii. —  To  deprive  the  Bible  of  its  one  meaning:     It  is  the 
Protestant  doctrine  of  the  right  of  private  judgment  in  the  in- 
terpretation of  Scripture  that  Newman  here  attacks. 

84  :  18. — Expressed  by  written  -words.  Newman  contends  here 
against  the  anti-dogmatic  principle.  Cf.  his  definition  of  his  posi- 
tion in  1833.  "First  was  the  principle  of  dogma;  my  battle  was 
with  liberalism  ;  by  liberalism  I  mean  the  anti-dogmatic  principle 

and  its  developments From  the  age  of  fifteen,  dogma  has 

been  the  fundamental  principle  of  my  religion  :  I  know  no  other 
religion;  I  cannot  enter  into  the  idea  of  any  other  sort  of  religion; 
religion,  as  a  mere  sentiment,  is  to  me  a  dream  and  a  mockery." 
Apologia,  ed.  1890,  p.  49. 

84  :  27. — -Antichrist.     See  Notes,  131  :  12. 

85  :  2. — Satan.    Newman's  belief  in  the  world  of  evil  spirits 
was  intense  and  absolute.     See  a  letter  of  Elizabeth  Mozley's 
quoted  in  Newman's  Letters  and  Correspondence,  I.,  335:  "One 
sees  that  Dr.  Newman's  great  power  ....  is  a  certain  vivid 

realization   of   the    unseen '  How  can   people  say  what ' 

is,  or  is  not,  natural  to  evil  spirits  ?     What  is  a  grotesque  mani- 
festation  to   us   may  not  be   so  to   them.     What  do  we  know 
about  an  evil  spirit  ? '    The  words  were  nothing,  but  there  was  an 
intensity  of  realization  in  his  face  as  he  said  them,  of  a  reality 
and  of  his  ignorance  about  it,  that  was   a  key  to  me  as  to  the 
source  of  his  influence  over  others."     Cf.  Notes,  178. 

86  :  i. — Conservative  Statesman.     The  letters  on  the  Tarn-worth 
Reading-room  appeared  in  the  Times  in  February,  1841,  by  way 
of  comment  on  a  speech  that  Sir  Robert  Peel  had  delivered  upon 

14 


210  NOTES. 

the  establishment  of  a  Library  and  Reading-room  in  the  town 
of  Tamworth.  In  their  treatment  of  knowledge  and  their  ideas 
about  education  these  letters  contrast  strikingly  with  Newman's 
Discourses  on  University  Teaching.  They  illustrate  his  intense 
distrust  of  secular  knowledge  and  of  intellectual  excellence, 
pursued  as  ends  in  themselves,  and  without  regard  to  religious 
culture.  They  are  also  pervaded  by  an  anti-democratic  manner 
of  thought  and  feeling  that,  despite  Newman's  universal  courtesy 
and  complete  unpretentiousness  both»of  demeanor  and  of  temper, 
is  nevertheless  distinctive  of  his  whole  character.  He  only  half 
veils  his  contempt  for  the  smattering  of  knowledge  that  common 
people  can  derive  from  journals  and  reading-rooms  and  Libraries 
of  Useful  Knowledge.  He  is  thoroughly  academic  in  his  sym- 
pathies and  prejudices ;  he  is  a  typical  ecclesiastic  in  his  feeling 
that  the  multitude  must  be  treated  with  tender  condescension 
and  friendly  solicitude,  but  never  for  a  moment  as  equals  or  as 
essentially  and  individually  deserving. 

87  :  27. — Mr.  Bentham  (1748-1832).     He  was  the  founder  of  the 
Utilitarian  school  in  morals,  politics,  and  philosophy. 

88  :  5. — Lord  Brougham  (1778-1868).     He  was  one  of  the  prime 
movers  in  the  cause  of  popular  education  ;  in  1825  he  formed  the 
famous    Society  for   the   Diffusion    of   Useful   Knowledge.     In 
1828,  largely  through  his  instrumentality,  London  University,  now 
University  College,  was  opened  for  instruction  ;  the  new  institu- 
tion was  totally  independent  of  the  Church,  was  anti-theological, 
if  not  anti-religious,  was  meant  to   give  freer  and  better  opportu- 
nities for  the   study  of   the  sciences  than  the   old  universities  of- 
fered, and  has  always  remained  identified  with  Free  Thought  and 
Positivism.     Brougham's  Discourse  on  his  inauguration  as  Lord 
Rector    of    Glasgow   University   (1825)    will    be    found    in    his 
Speeches,  Vol.   III.,   ed.  1838,  p.  69,  together  with  various  other 
important  addresses  on  popular  education.     In  the  preceding  let- 
ter Newman  has  commented  very  severely  on  this  Inaugural. 

88  :  8. — Not  a  spark  of  poetry.  In  his  computation  of  pleasures 
and  pains  with  a  view  to  deciding  the  relative  values  of  causes 
of  action,  Bentham  laid  it  down  as  a  rule  that.in  quality, "  push- 
pin was  worth  as  much  as  poetry." 

88  :  26. — Signifying  nothing. 


NOTES.  211 

"  It  is  a  tale 

Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing."  — Macbeth,  Act  V.,  Sc.  5. 

90 :  3. — Porch.  The  Stoic  philosophers  were  called  philosophers 
of  the  Porch,  because  Zeno,  founder  of  the  school,  taught  in  a 
porch  (Geek  <rro<i).  The  Stoics  taught  that  virtue  consisted  in 
recognizing  the  limitations  that  the  law  of  nature  imposes  on 
the  individual,  and  in  regulating  the  appetites  and  desires  in 
accordance  with  the  dictates  of  reason. — Cf.  Notes,  34  :  28. 

90  :  5. — O philosophia.  Newman  misquotes.  See  Cicero,  Tus- 
cul.  Qucest.,  bk.  v.,  2:  "O  vitae  philosophia  dux!  O  virtutis 
indagatrix,  expultrixque  vitiorum  !  "  '  O  philosophy,  guide  of 
life !  Searcher  out  of  virtue  and  scourge  of  vice ! ' 

90  :  16. —  White  Ladies  or  Undines.  In  the  mythology  of  the 
Scottish  Highlands  White  Ladies  were  mysterious  maidens  who 
were  held  captive  in  lonely  regions  under  some  spell,  and  who 
appeared  to  solitary  wayfarers  or  shepherds  and  offered  them 
gifts  of  flowers  or  corn  in  return  for  assistance.  In  the  system  of 
Paracelsus,  an  Undine  was  a  water-sprite.  Newman's  immediate 
allusion  is  probably  to  de  la  Motte  Fouque's  well-known  story, 
Undine,  in  which  a  water-sprite  marries  the  Knight  Sir  Huldbrand 
and  so  receives  a  human  soul.  Newman's  question,  then,  is 
whether  rational  men  are  to  be  dealt  with,  as  are  these  semi- 
human  creatures,  purely  by  external  expedients;  whether  reason- 
able beings  can  be  transformed  in  character,  simply  by  a  change 
of  surroundings. 

90:  19. —  When  Cicero  was  outwitted.  Cicero  had  sided  with 
Pompey  against  Caesar,  and  on  the  defeat  of  Pompey  at  Pharsalia 
in  48  B.  c.  was  forced  out  of  public  life.  He  took  refuge  in  study 
and  composition.  In  a  letter  to  Varro  in  46  B.  c.  he  declares, 
"  As  soon  as  I  was  back  in  Rome,  I  had  a  reconciliation  with  my 
old  friends,  my  books."  Ad.  Fam.,  IX.,  i.  In  45  B.  c.  he  com- 
posed his  Academica,  dealing  wholly  with  philosophical  questions 
and  discussing  incidentally  many  of  Plato's  doctrines.  Cf.  New- 
man's Hist.  Sketches,  I.,  285 :  [Cicero]  "  then  published  the  De 
claris  Oratoribus  and  Orator ;  and  a  year  later,  when  he  was 
sixty-three,  his  Academics  Quastiones,  in  the  retirement  from 
public  business  to  which  he  was  driven  by  the  dictatorship  of 
Caesar." 


212  NOTES. 

90  :  21. — A  treatise  on  consolation.    Cicero's  daughter  Tullia  died 
in  45  B.  C.,  and  his  treatise  De  Consolatione  seu  de  Luctu  Minuendo 
was  written  soon  afterwards. 

90:22. —  That  Lydian  City.  "In  the  days  of  Atys  the  son.  of 
Manes,  there  was  great  scarcity  through  the  whole  land  of  Lydia. 
For  some  time  the  Lydians  bore  the  affliction  patiently,  but 
finding  that  it  did  not  pass  away,  they  set  to  work  to  devise 
remedies  for  the  evil.  Various  expedients  were  discovered  by 
various  persons ;  dice,  and  huckle-bones,  and  ball,  and  all  such 
games  were  invented,  except  tables,  the  invention  of  which  they 
do  not  claim  as  theirs.  The  plan  adopted  against  the  famine 
was  to  engage  in  games  one  day  so  entirely  as  not  to  feel  any 
craving  for  food,  and  the  next  day  to  eat  and  abstain  from 
games." — Herodotus,  I.,  94.  (Rawlinson's  translation.) 

91  :  ii. — FrenchTyrant.     Newman  has  in  mind  Scott's  account 
of  Louis  the  Eleventh's  iron  cages  for  prisoners :  "  At  this  for- 
midable castle  [Loches]  were  also  those  dreadful  places  of  con- 
finement called  cages,  in  which  the  wretched  prisoner  could  nei- 
ther stand  upright,  nor  stretch  himself  at  length,  an  invention,  it 
is  said,  of  the  Cardinal  Balue." — Quentin  Durward  I.,  chap.  xv. 
In  point  of  fact  these  cages  were  eight  feet  long  and  about  seven 
feet  high.     Philippe  de  Comines  was  confined  in  one  of  them  for 
eight  months ;  Balue  himself,  their  supposed  inventor,  was  en- 
closed in  a  cage  for  fourteen  years.     See   Comines,  Memoirs, 
bk.  vi.,  chap.  xii. 

92  :  3. — Naturam  expellas.    See   Horace,  Epistles,  I.,  x ,  24-5  : 

"  Naturam  expellas  furcS,  tamen  usque  recurret, 
Et  mala  perrumpet  furtim  fastidia  victrix." 

'  Though  you  drive  nature  out  with  a  pitchfork  yet  will  she  always 
make  her  way  back  and  stealthily  destroy  your  mischievous 
squeamishness  and  subdue  you  to  her  will.' 

92  :  30. — Mr.  Bentham  .  .  .  verse-making.     Cf.  Notes,  88 :  8. 

92  :  31. — Mr.  Dugald  Stewart.  Stewart's  attack  on  the  pre- 
tensions of  the  Aristotelian  logic  is  to  be  found  in  his  Ele- 
ments of  the  Human  Mind,  Part  II.,  chap.  iii.  A  sentence  at  the 
opening  of  section  iii.  sums  up  his  position:  "The  general  result 
of  the  foregoing  reflections  is,  That  neither  the  means  employed 
by  the  school  logic  for  the  assistance  of  the  discursive  faculty^ 


NOTES. 


213 


nor  the  accomplishment  of  that  end,  were  it  really  attained, 
are  of  much  consequence  in  promoting  the  enlargement  of 
the  mind,  or  in  guarding  it  against  the  influence  of  erroneous 
opinions." 

93  :  5. — Knowledge  Society.  In  1825  was  formed  the  "  Society 
for  Promoting  the  Diffusion  of  Useful  Knowledge ;  "  among  the 
foremost  of  the  original  members  were  Brougham,  Lord  John 
Russell,  and  Dr.  Lushington.  The  main  object  of  the  society 
was  the  cheap  publication  of  good  literature.  Elementary  trea- 
tises on  the  sciences  were  written  to  order  and  widely  dissemi- 
nated. One  of  the  most  famous  and  successful  ventures  of  the 
Society  was  the  Penny  Magazine,  of  which  200,000  copies  were 
sold  per  week.  See  Martineau's  History  of  the  Peace,  bk.  iii., 
chap.  xi.  Cf.  Peacock's  Crotchet  Castle,  chap,  xvii.,  where  Dr. 
Folliott  sneers  at  "  the  march  of  mind  "  and  at  the  "  learned 
friend,"  who  writes  penny  tracts  on  chemistry ;  the  "  learned 
friend  "  was  Lord  Brougham. 

93  :  5.— Gower  Street  College.     See  Notes,  88  :  5. 

94:7. — Arcesilas.  Arcesilaus  or  Arcesilas  (315-241  B.  c.)  was 
the  head  of  the  New  Academy  ;  it  was  under  him  that  Platonism 
first  became  radically  sceptical.  His  doubts  were  "  directed  not 
only  to  knowledge  derived  from  the  senses,  but  to  rational  knowl- 
edge as  well."  (Zeller's  Stoics,  Epicureans,  and  Sceptics,  Reichel's 
translation,  p.  501.)  With  Berkeley,  on  the  other  hand,  the  same 
analysis  that  leads  to  idealism  leads  to  belief  in  God  as  an  Infinite 
Spirit,  the  supporter  and  regulator  of  ideas.  In  Arcesilaus,  then, 
idealism  is  the  occasion  of  scepticism ;  in  Berkeley  it  is  made  the 
basis  of  religious  faith.  Cf.  Newman's  article  on  Cicero,  in  the 
Encyclopedia  Metropolitana,  Greek  and  Roman  Philosophy  and 
Science,  (London,  1853),  p.  218.  "Mistaking  the  profession  of 
ignorance,  which  Socrates  had  used  against  the  sophists  on 
physical  questions,  for  an  actual  scepticism  on  points  connected 
with  morals,  [Arcesilas]  fell  into  the  opposite  extreme,  and 
declared,  first,  that  nothing  could  be  known,  and  therefore, 
secondly,  nothing  should  be  advanced." 

97  :  14. —  The  lie  of  a  country.  English  usage  favors  lie  rather 
*han  lay  in  this  sense.  Cf.  E.  A,  Freeman,  Venice,  p.  312,  and 


214  NOTES. 

also  "  the  lie  and  issue  of  the  whole  matter  "  in  Newman's  Gram- 
mar of  Assent,  ed.  1889,  p.  76. 

98  :  25. — Scepticism.     This  is  one  of  the  passages  that  seem  to 
justify  the  charge  of  scepticism  sometimes  brought  against  New- 
man, the  charge  that  he  fled  to  the  Church  because  he  was  afraid 
of  his  reason.     Later,  in  this  same  discussion  he  declares  :  "  I  be- 
lieve that  the  study  of  nature,  when  religious  feeling  is  away,  leads 
the  mind,  rightly  or  wrongly,  to  acquiesce  in  the  atheistic  theory, 
as  the  simplest  and  easiest."     Selections,  p.  103.     Again,  through- 
out the  whole  of  Tract  85,  there  is  observable  a  sceptical  bias  ; 
Newman  is  contending  against  rationalism  and  private  judgment 
and   in  favor   of  submission   to  the  authority  of  the  Anglican 
Church,  and  his  argument  is  that  if  a  man  begins  choosing  for 
himself  among  the  doctrines  of  the  Church,  he  will  soon  be  choos- 
ing among  the  doctrines  of  the  Bible ;  that  if  he  doubts  about  ec- 
clesiastical miracles,  he  will  soon  be  doubting  about  Balaam  and 
Jonah.     In  other  words,  if  reason  be  allowed  to  question   the 
authority  of  the  Church,  it  will  soon  question  and   reject   the 
authority  of  the  Bible.     Hence,  the  only  safe  course  is  for  the  in- 
dividual to  submit  unhesitatingly  in  matters  of  faith  to  the  voice 
of  the  Church.     This  argument  seems,  as  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  has 
pointed  out,  essentially  sceptical.     "  A  conclusion  peremptorily 
asserted  in  this  fashion  is  simply  scepticism  afraid  of  itself.     It 
orders  us  to  believe  because,  if  we  don't  believe,  we  shall  doubt. 
That  is  virtually  to  admit  that  doubt  is  the  legitimate  and  normal 
result  of  reasoning,  which  is,  I  take  it,  the  essential  characteristic 
of  scepticism."     Nineteenth   Centttry,  XXIX.,  201.     In  the  same 
strain  with  that  of  this  passage,  Prof.  Huxley  has  asserted  that  a 
"  Primer  of  Infidelity  "  can  be  compiled  from  Cardinal  Newman's 
works.    Nineteenth  Century,  XXV.,  p.  948.     Elaborate  defences  of 
Newman  against  these  charges  of  scepticism  may  be  found  in 
Wilfrid   Ward's    Witnesses  to   the    Unseen  (published   originally 
in  the  Nineteenth   Century,  XXIX.,  reissued  with  other  essays  in 
1893)  and  in  R.  H.  Hutton's  Cardinal  Newman,  chap.  v.     More- 
over, there  are  several  crucial  passages  in  Newman's  works  that 
the  reader  should  have  in  mind,  while  trying  to  decide  on  the  fun- 
damental trend  of  Newman's  thought.     Such  passages  are  the 
following  :   "  I   know  that  even  the  unaided  reason,  when  cor- 


MOTES.  215 

rectly  exercised,  leads  to  a  belief  in  God,  in  the  immortality  of  the 
soul,  and  in  a  future  retribution."  Selections,  p.  163.  "  By  Re- 
ligion I  mean  the  knowledge  of  God,  of  His  Will,  and  of  our 
duties  towards  Him ;  and  there  are  three  main  channels  which 
Nature  furnishes  for  our  acquiring  this  knowledge,  viz.,  our  own 
minds,  the  voice  of  mankind,  and  the  course  of  the  world,  that  is, 
of  human  life  and  human  affairs.  The  informations  which  these 
three  convey  to  us  teach  us  the  Being  and  Attributes  of  God,  our 
responsibility  to  Him,  our  dependence  on  Him,  our  prospect  of  re- 
ward or  punishment,  to  be  somehow  brought  about,  according  as 
we  obey  or  disobey  Him.  And  the  most  authoritative  of  these 
three  means  of  knowledge,  as  being  specially  our  own,  is  our  own 
mind."  Grammar  of  Assent,  ed.  1889,  p.  389.  "  Truth  certainly, 
as  such,  rests  upon  grounds  intrinsically  and  objectively  and  ab- 
stractedly demonstrative,  but  it  does  not  follow  from  this  that  the 
arguments  producible  in  its  favour  are  unanswerable  and  irresist- 
ible  The  fact  of  revelation  is  in  itself  demonstrably  true, 

but  it  is  not  therefore  true  irresistibly I  cannot  convert 

men,  when  I  ask  for  assumptions  which  they  refuse  to  grant  to 
me ;  and  without  assumptions  no  one  can  prove  anything  about 
anything."  Grammar  of  Assent,  p.  410. 

98  :  28. — Life  is  for  action.  This  is  the  sum  and  substance  of 
Newman's  plea  against  rationalism.  Man  is  not  mere  intellect ; 
life  is  not  pure  thought.  Truth,  though  ultimately  always  demon- 
strable by  logical  processes,  is  constantly  reached  in  practical  life 
by  short  cuts,  of  which  logic  can  give  but  a  sorry  account.  The 
principle  of  life  is  faith  or  belief,  the  voluntary  acceptance  of 
ideas  and  propositions  according  as  they  commend  themselves  to 
the  whole  nature  of  the  man  who  receives  them.  "  Belief  .  .  . 
being  concerned  with  things  concrete,  not  abstract,  which  va- 
riously excite  the  mind  from  their  moral  and  imaginative  proper- 
ties, has  for  its  objects,  not  only  directly  what  is  true,  but  inclu- 
sively what  is  beautiful,  useful,  admirable,  heroic;  objects  which 
kindle  devotion,  rouse  the  passions,  and  attach  the  affections ; 
and  thus  it  leads  the  way  to  actions  of  every  kind,  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  principles,  and  the  formation  of  character,  and  is 
thus  again  intimately  connected  with  what  is  individual  and  per- 
sonal." Grammar  of  Assent,  ed.  1889,  pp.  90-1.  The  real  aim 


2l6  MOTES. 

of  the  Grammar  of  Assent 'is  to  define  the  faculty,  viz.,  the  Illa- 
tive Sense,  which  makes  these  justly  discriminating  choices  of 
truth  in  concrete  matters,  to  study  its  relation  to  other  faculties 
of  the  mind,  to  suggest  the  best  discipline  for  it,  to  illustrate  its 
action  in  all  departments  of  life,  and  to  trace  in  detail  the  process 
by  which  Newman's  own  Illative  Sense  leads  him  to  accept  the 
truth  of  Christianity  and  Catholicism.  The  whole  of  this  pas- 
sage from  the  Tarn-worth  Reading-room  will  be  found  quoted  in 
the  Grammar  of  Assent,  pp.  92-97. 

101  :  24. — Democritus  and  others.  The  passage  occurs  in 
Bacon's  De  Augmentis,  bk.  iii,  chap.  4.  See  Lord  Bacon's  Works, 
ed.  Ellis  and  Spedding,  1858,  IV.,  363-4. 

106:  i. — Now  what  is  Theology?  This  is  part  of  Newman's 
plea  for  giving  Theology  a  place  among  the  sciences.  His 
purpose  in  making  this  plea  and  its  relation  to  the  rest  of  the 
argument  in  his  Discourses  on  University  Teaching  have  been  ex- 
plained, Notes,  19.  Cf.  with  this  account  of  Theology  that  given 
in  the  Grammar  of  Assent,  pp.  147-8. 

117  :  i. — -Music  .  .  .  has  an  object  of  its  own.  Newman  was  a 
thoroughly-trained  musician  and  played  admirably  on  the  violin. 
See  his  Letters  and  Correspondence,  I.,  71,  and  also  Newman  as  a 
Musician,  in  Month,  LXXIII.,  i. 

119  :  i. —  The  prejudiced  man.  This  extract  is  taken  from  New- 
man's Lectures  on  the  Present  Position  of  Catholics  in  England, 
which  were  delivered  in  1851,  before  the  Brothers  of  the  Oratory 
in  Birmingham,  and  published  in  the  same  year.  The  object  of 
the  lectures,  as  defined  by  Newman,  was  not  "  to  prove  the 
divine  origin  of  Catholicism,  but  to  remove  some  of  the  moral 
and  intellectual  impediments  which  prevent  Protestants  from 
acknowledging  it.  Protestants  cannot  be  expected  to  do  justice 
to  a  religion  whose  professors  they  hate  and  scorn."  During 
1851,  the  feeling  against  Catholics  was  exceptionally  intense.  In 
the  autumn  of  the  preceding  year  had  occurred  what  was  called 
the  "  Papal  aggression."  The  Pope  had  raised  Ur.  Wiseman  to 
the  rank  of  a  Cardinal,  and  made  him  the  first  Catholic  Arch- 
bishop of  Westminster  and  Primate  of  England ;  he  had  also  re- 
distributed England  into  Catholic  dioceses,  over  which  he  ap- 
pointed Catholic  bishops,  whose  titles  included  the  names  of 


NOTES.  217 

English  towns.  This  establishment  of  a  Romish  hierarchy  in 
England  excited  in  the  breasts  of  many  worthy  Protestants  the 
utmost  consternation.  On  November  4,  Lord  John  Russell 
published  with  reference  to  the  whole  affair,  the  famous  Durham 
letter,  the  tone  of  which  is  fairly  represented  by  the  following 
extract :  "  There  is  an  assumption  of  power  in  all  the  documents 
which  have  come  from  Rome,  a  pretension  to  supremacy  over  the 
realm  of  England,  and  a  claim  to  sole  and  undecided  sway,  which 
is  inconsistent  with  the  Queen's  supremacy,  with  the  rights  of  our 
bishops  and  clergy,  and  with  the  spiritual  independence  of  the 
nation  as  asserted  even  in  Roman  Catholic  times."  On  November 
5,  the  Pope  and  Cardinal  Wiseman  were  burned  in  effigy  and 
the  anti-Catholic  demonstrations  were  almost  riotous.  As  soon 
as  Parliament  met,  in  February,  1851,  a  bill  was  read  for  the 
first  time  by  a  majority  of  332,  forbidding  Roman  Catholic  eccle- 
siastics to  assume  the  new  titles  the  Pope  had  assigned  them,  and 
this  bill,  though  fiercely  opposed  in  its  later  stages,  became  law  in 
April,  1851.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  atmosphere  of  intense 
feeling  that  Newman's  lectures  were  delivered  in  the  summer  of 
1851. 

123  :  9. — And  tricks  its  beams.  The  quotation  is  from  near  the 
close  of  Lycidas  ;  Newman  substitutes  "  its  "  for  "  his  "  to  suit 
the  context. 

123  :  15. — Unhurt  amid  the  war  of  elements.  See  Addison's 
Cato,  Act  V.,  Scene  i. : 

"  The  soul,  secured  in  her  existence,  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point. 
The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  nature  sink  in  years; 
But  thou  shall  flourish  in  immortal  youth, 
Unhurt  amidst  the  war  of  elements, 
The  wrecks  of  matter,  and  the  crash  of  worlds." 

123  :  19.— Jeffreys  ....  Teodore.  "  Only  two  years  have  I 
been  [in  Birmingham],  and  each  of  these  two  has  been  signalised 
by  accusations  against  Catholics,  similar,  in  the  disreputable- 
ness  of  their  authors,  and  in  the  enormity  of  their  falsehood, 
and  in  the  brilliancy  of  their  success,  to  the  calumnies  of  Maria 
Monk.  Two  years  ago  it  was  Jeffreys ;  last  year  it  was  Teodore. 


2i8  NOTES. 

You  recollect  how  Jeffreys  acted  his  part,  how  he  Wept,  and 
prayed,  and  harangued,  and  raised  a  whole  population  against  an 
innocent  company  of  monks  ;  and  how  he  was  convicted  of  fraud 
and  confessed  his  guilt,  and  was  sent  to  prison.  You  also  recol- 
lect how  an  impostor,  called  Teodore,  declaimed  such  shocking 
things,  and  wrote  such  indecent  pamphlets  against  us,  that  they 
cannot  have  been  intended  for  any  other  purpose  than  to  afford 
merriment  to  the  haunts  of  profligacy  and  vice  ;  yet  he  was  fol- 
lowed for  a  time,  was  admitted  into  Protestant  place:,  of  worship, 
and  honoured  as  a  truth-telling  oracle,  till  at  length  he  was  plainly 
detected  to  be  what  every  one  from  the  first  would  have  seen  he 
really  was,  were  it  usual  to  do  the  same  common  justice  to  Cath- 
olics which  every  Protestant  considers  his  due."  Newman's 
Present  Position  of  Catholics  in  England,  Lecture  IV. 

127  :  20. — I  should  be  but  a  fool.     Newman  feels  himself  bound 
as  a  Catholic  to  be  almost  ludicrously  emphatic  in  his  professions 
of  loyalty  and  patriotism.    Cf.  the  passage  in  the  Apologia,  ed. 
1890,  p.  xvi. :    "I  had  rather  be  an   Englishman  (as  in  fact  I 
am),  than  belong  to  any  other  race  under  heaven." 

128  :  7. — Exeter  Hall.    The  great  gathering  place  of  dissenters 
in  London. 

128  :  10. — /  will  suppose,  then,  a  speaker.     The  very  effective 
parody  that  follows  may  have  been  suggested  by  Whately's  His- 
toric Doubts  relative  to  Napoleon  Buonaparte  (1819).     This  pam- 
phlet parodied  Hume's  attack  on  the  credibility  of  miracles  by 
an  elaborate  proof    that   Napoleon    Buonaparte  was  a  myth. 
Whately  strongly  influenced  Newman  for  several  years  beginning 
with  1822  ;   "  he,  emphatically,  opened   my  mind,"    writes  New- 
man, "  and  taught  me  to  think  and  to  use  my  reason."     (Apologia, 
ed.  1890,  p.  n.)     Another  similar  parody  by  an  Oriel  man   was 
Copleston's  Advice  to  a    Young  Reviewer,   with  a  Specimen   of 
the    Art  (1807).     This    was   a   mock-review    of  "  Mr.   Milton's 
'  f.' Allegro,'"  and  imitated  very  cleverly  the  tone  and  manner  of 
the  early  Edinburgh  Review  articles.     Newman  doubtless,  as  an 
Oriel  man,  had  been  well  trained  in  the  Academic  irony  these 
pieces  of  writing  illustrate. 

129  7. —  The  Lion  and  the  Man.    Newman's  allusion  is  to  a  fable 
with  which  he  had  begun  his  first  Lecture.    The  Lion,  who  was 


NOTES.  219 

being  entertained  by  the  Man,  was  led  through  the  Man's  beauti- 
ful palace  to  inspect  its  works  of  art.  In  all  the  paintings  and 
sculpture  and  carvings  he  found  men  and  lions  portrayed,  but  the 
men  were  always  victorious  and  the  lions  vanquished ;  in  the 
pictures,  the  lions  were  always  running  away  from  the  hunter, 
and  in  the  carvings  they  were  wrought  into  the  legs  or  the  arms  of 
chairs  or  the  brackets  of  mantels.  When  at  length  the  Lion  was 
asked  for  his  opinion  of  the  decorations,  he  admitted  their  beauty 
and  skill,  but  added  that  Lions  would  have  fared  better,  if  Lions 
had  been  the  artists.  So,  according  to  Newman,  Catholics  would 
have  fared  better  in  English  art  and  literature  during  the  last 
three  hundred  years,  had  not  Protestants  always  been  the  por- 
trayers  and  Catholics  the  portrayed. 

129  :  23. —  The  Count  began.  The  reader  will  not  need  to  be  told 
that,  in  the  ironical  passage  that  follows,  John  Bullism  stands  for 
Roman  Catholicism,  the  British  Constitution  for  the  ordinances 
and  institutions  of  the  Catholic  Church,  the  Kings  and  Queens 
of  England  for  the  Popes,  and  Blackstone's  Commentaries  for 
any  esoteric  work,  on  the  mysteries  of  ecclesiasticism.  Russians, 
of  course,  correspond  to  Protestants,  and  Newman's  contention 
is  that,  to  any  good  Catholic,  current  Protestant  ideas  about 
Roman  Catholicism  seem  precisely  as  grotesque  as  the  Russian 
Count's  ravings  about  the  British  Constitution  seem  to  an  enlight- 
ened Englishman.  The  skill  should  be  noted  with  which  through- 
out this  whole  passage  Newman  plays  upon  British  prejudice. 

131  :  12. — Antichrist.  See  I.  John  iv.  18:  "This  is  that  spirit 
of  Antichrist,  whereof  ye  have  heard  that  it  should  come."  Cf.  I. 
John  ii.  18.  The  favorite  Protestant  interpretation  of  these  pas- 
sages identified  Antichrist  with  the  Papacy.  Newman's  own 
imagination  "  was  stained  by  the  effects  of  this  doctrine  up  to  the 
year  1843."  (Apologia,  ed.  1890,  p.  7.)  In  the  83d  Tract  for  the 
Times,  however,  on  the  Patristical  Idea  of  Antichrist  (1838),  he 
seems  to  suggest  that  the  sceptical  spirit  of  modern  science  is  the 
spirit  of  Antichrist ;  see  especially  Discussions  and  Arguments, 
ed.  1888,  p,  98.  Cf.  also  the  Protestant  Idea  of  Antichrist  (1840), 
Essays  Critical  and  Historical,  II.,  112-185,  where  Newman 
argues  at  length  against  the  identification  of  the  Mediaeval  Church 
with  Antichrist 


220  MOTES. 

133  :  15. —  You  cowardly  liar.  Newman  means  to  suggest  that 
a  good  Catholic's  devotion  to  the  Pope  is  as  praiseworthy  as  a 
loyal  Englishman's  love  for  the  Queen  ;  and  that  a  Catholic's  in- 
dignation when  he  is  forced  to  listen  to  stupid  slanders  against  the 
Pope  is  as  justifiable  as  the  patriotic  outburst  of  wrath  in  the 
text. 

135  :  3. — Divine  Sovereignty.     The   argument   is   plain.     The 
Russian  Count's    malice  and  stupidity  are  the  counterparts  of 
Protestant  prejudice.     His  misinterpretations  of  the 'British  Con- 
stitution correspond  to  Protestants'  misconstruction  of  Catholic 
doctrines  and  ceremonial.     His  grotesque  horror  over  the  blas- 
phemy of  innocent  legal  fictions  satirizes  Protestant  denunciations 
of  the  wickedness  of  the  reverential  phraseology  and  elaborate 
etiquette  of  the  Papal  Court.     Cf.   Present  Position  of  Catholics, 
p.  79,  where  Newman  represents  the  Prejudiced  Man  as  exclaim- 
ing, "  The  Pope  not  the  man  of  sin !  why,  it  is  a  fact  that  the 
Romanists  distinctly  maintain  that  '  the  Pope  is  God,  and  God  is 
the  Pope.'  " 

136  :  31. — Bracton,  an  English  judge,  who  died  in  1268.     His 
De  Legibus  et  Consuetudinibus  Anglia  is  one  of  the  earliest  dis- 
cussions of  the  law  of  England. 

137  :  13. — Lord  Clarendon.      George  Villiers,  fourth    Earl   of 
Clarendon,  was  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  from  1847  to  1852,  in 
Lord  John  Russell's  Government.     The  History  of  the  Rebellion 
was,  of  course,  the  work  of  Edward  Hyde,  first  Earl  of  Clarendon 
(1608-1674),  and  was  published   1702-4.     The  Constitutions  of 
Clarendon  were  famous  enactments,  whereby  in  1164  Henry  II. 
greatly  limited  the  power  of  the  Church. 

138  :  i. —  The  number  of  the  beast.     See   Revelations  xiii.  18 : 
"  Let  him   that   hath  understanding  count  the   number  of  the 
beast :  for  it  is  the  number  of  a  man  ;  and  his  number  is  six  hun- 
dred  three  score  and  six."     The  beast  is  often  identified  with 
Antichrist. 

138  :  19. —  The  English  Kings.  This  rigmarole  about  the 
crimes  of  English  monarchs  corresponds,  in  Newman's  opinion,  to 
the  collections  of  scandals  about  the  Popes  to  which  Protestants 
give  credence,  and  on  which  they  base  their  hostility  to  the 
Papacy. 


MOTES.  22 1 

140:  i. — One  hundred  and  sixty  offences.  The  Count  is  merely 
a  century  behind  in  his  knowledge  of  English  law. 

142  :  29. — De  minimis,  etc.  There  is  no  reason  for  expounding 
these  legal  terms  and  maxims ;  their  grotesque  misconstruction 
and  misapplication  is  plain  enough  to  produce  the  effect  New- 
man desires. 

145  :  ii. — Sabellians.  The  Sabellian  heresy  originated  in  the 
third  century.  It  taught  that  the  Deity  is  one  in  substance  but 
triple  in  manifestation,  and  that  the  so-called  persons  of  the 
Trinity  are  merely  the  forms  in  which  an  indivisible  Monad  ener- 
gizes in  the  universe.  God  is  immanent  in  the  Universe,  and 
merely  reveals  himself,  becomes  vocal  in  its  phenomena.  Ulti- 
mately, the  Infinite  Monad  shall  withdraw  again  into  itself  and 
become  silent  ;  then,  the  visible  universe  shall  be  no  more. 
See  E.  de  Pressense,  Heresy  and  Christian  Doctrine  (translated 
by  Annie  Harwood),  London,  1873,  PP-  146-150. 

145  :  12. — Irvingites.    To  the  ordinary  readers  of  to-day,  Edward 
Irving  (1792-1834)    is  best   known   through  Carlyle's   Reminis- 
cences ;  but  between  1827  and  1834  Irving  was  a  very  prominent 
figure  in  the  religious  world  of  London.      The  most  fanatical  of 
his  followers  became  dreamers  of  dreams,  seers  of  visions,  and 
speakers  in  unknown  tongues.     Finally,  the  manifestations  grew 
so  grotesque,  that  the  saner  members  of  the  congregation  refused 
to  sanction  them  and   compelled  Irving  and  the   extremists  to 
withdraw  to  a  new  place  of  worship.     The  sect  of  the  Irvingites 
still  exists;  their  chief  place  of  worship  is  in  Gordon  Square, 
London. 

146  :  8. — As  during  the  last  year,     i.  e.,  during  1850-51.     The 
allusion  is  to  the  so-called  "  Papal  Aggression,"  the  attempt  of 
the  Pope  to  establish  a  Roman  Catholic  hierarchy  in  England. 
Cf.  Notes,  119:  I. 

148:  i. —  Two  of  my  instances.  Newman  has  been  illustrating 
Protestant  ignorance  of  all  things  Catholic,  and  the  prejudice  of 
Protestants  in  commenting  on  the  things  of  which  they  are 
ignorant.  He  has  been  bringing  home  to  his  readers  the  intense 
hostility  with  which  English  Protestants  approach  whatever  per- 
tains to  the  Catholic  Church.  His  first  illustration  has  been  a 


222  MOTES. 

series  of  misinterpretations  which  for  over  a  hundred  years  and 
by  half  a  dozen  famous  Protestant  historians  had  been  imposed 
on  a  few  innocent  phrases  of  a  certain  Catholic  writer,  St.  Eloi 
or  St.  Eligius.  Ever  since  the  publication  of  Mosheim's  Ecclesias- 
tical History  (1755))  St.  Eloi  had  been  represented  as  teaching 
that  "true  Christianity  consisted,  not  in  the  absence  of  fraud  and 
injustice,  or  again,  of  immorality,  hatred,  or  strife,  but  in  merely 
coming  to  church,  paying  tithes,  burning  candles,  and  praying  to 
the  saints."  But  careful  examination  of  St.  Eloi's  writings 
showed  that  the  quotation  urged  against  him  had  been  torn  from 
a  context  that  corrected  its  deficiencies,  and  imposed  on  it  a 
totally  new  meaning. 

Newman's  second  instance  was  a  scandalous  charge  that  had 
recently  been  brought  against  the  Catholic  Cathedral  of  St. 
Gudule,  Brussels.  A  certain  enthusiastic  Protestant  clergyman 
had  asserted  at  an  anti-Catholic  meeting,  that  on  one  of  the  doors 
of  the  Cathedral  at  Brussels  there  was  posted  a  list  of  all  the  sins 
possible  to  human  nature,  with  the  prices  for  which  each  would 
be  forgiven.  According  to  Newman,  however,  this  list  of  sins 
was  merely  a  price-list  of  the  various  kinds  of  chairs  in  the 
Cathedral,  on  feast-days,  and  on  ordinary  days. 

Newman's  third  instance  follows  in  the  text. 

153  :  4. — Edwards  and  Henries.  Cf.  Idea  of  a  University, 
ed.  1891,  p.  155:  "Edward  the  Second,  flying  from  the  field  of 
Bannockburn,  is  said  to  have  made  a  vow  to  the  Blessed  Virgin 
to  found  a  religious  house  in  her  honour,  if  he  got  back  in  safety. 
Prompted  and  aided  by  his  Almoner,  he  decided  on  placing  this 
house  in  the  city  of  Alfred,"  *'.  <?.,  in  Oxford.  This  is  Newman's 
account  of  the  foundation  in  1326  of  Oriel  College,  Oxford.  New- 
man was  elected  Fellow  of  Oriel  in  1823.  Henry  VIII.  usually 
shares  with  Cardinal  Wolsey  the  honor  of  founding  Christ 
Church,  Oxford,  1525-1532.  Henry  VI.  founded  Eton  in  1440; 
William  of  Wykeham,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  founded  Winches- 
ter College,  Winchester,  and  New  College,  Oxford,  between  1373 
and  1393.  Wolsey's  share  in  the  establishment  of  Christ  Church, 
Oxford,  has  already  been  noted. 

Newman  is  simply  emphasizing  the  fact  that  he  and  his  Catho- 
lic friends  have  been  trained  in  the  great  English  Colleges  and 


NOTES. 


223 


Universities,  and  may  claim  a  common  share  with  Protestants  in 
the  best  traditions  of  English  culture. 

154  :  13.—  The  Belgian  sin-table.     Cf.  Notes,  148:  i. 

155  :i8. — Mosheim.     It  was  in  "NioshemC  s  Ecclesiastical  History 
that  St.  Eligius  was  first  calumniated  in  the  fashion  of  which 
Newman  has  complained  in  the  earlier  parts  of  this  Lecture. 

159  :  12. —  Try  to  work  society.     That  religious  unbelief  tends  to 
the  disintegration  of  society  is  a  familiar  argument  in  favor  of 
established  creeds.     Roman  Catholics  are  apt  to  point  with  a 
certain  complacency  to  the  social  disturbances  so  characteristic 
of  recent  years,  and  to  urge  that  they  are  the  necessary  expression 
of  the  modern  spirit.     If  you  teach  that  society  is  founded  solely 
on  expediency,  and  if  you  encourage  every  man  to  judge  for  him- 
self on  questions  of  politics  and  morals  and  religion,  can  you 
wonder,  they  ask,  if  there  result  savage  attacks  of  all  kinds  on 
the  established  order  ? 

160  :  I. — Starting  then  -with  the  being.     This   passage   comes 
from  chapter  iv.  of  the  Apologia,  where  Newman  is  describing  the 
position  of  his  mind  since  1845.     "From  the  time  that  I  became 
a  Catholic,  of  course  I  have  no  further  history  of  my  religious 
opinions  to  narrate.  ...  I  have  been  in  perfect  peace  and  con- 
tentment ;  I  never  have  had  one  doubt.     I  was  not  conscious 
to  myself,  on  my  conversion,  of  any  change,  intellectual  or  moral, 
wrought  in  my  mind.     I  was  not  conscious  of  firmer  faith  in  the 
fundamental   truths  of  Revelation,  or   of  more   self-command ; 
I  had  not  more  fervour ;  but  it  was  like  coming  into  port  after  a 
rough  sea ;  and  my  happiness  on  that  score  remains  to  this  day 
without  interruption."     (Apologia,  ed.    1890,  p.  238.)     After  this 
preliminary  account  of  the  results  of  his  change  of  faith,  Newman 
goes  on  to  explain  why  he  found  little  or  no  difficulty  in  accept- 
ing those  additional  articles  of  the  Catholic  faith  which,  as  an 
Anglican,  he  had  rejected.     He  admits  that  there  are  difficulties 
attendant  on  some  of  these  articles  ;  but  difficulties  are  connected 
with  every  point  of  religious  belief,  most  of  all  with  the  belief  in 
God, — the  belief  which  is  nevertheless  "  borne  in  upon  our  minds 
with  most  power."     "  Ten  thousand  difficulties,"  however,  "  do 
not  make  one  doubt ;"..."  difficulty  and  doubt  are  incommen- 
surate."   Newman  next  considers  the  doctrines  of  Transubstan- 


224  NOTES. 

tiation  and  the  Trinity,  and  points  out  that  both  have  to  do  with 
things  in  themselves,  not  with  phenomena,  and  hence  are  truths 
beyond  the  control  or  criticism  of  science,  which  deals  wholly 
with  phenomena.  Finally,  he  undertakes  to  prove,  in  the  passage 
given  in  the  text,  that  the  system  of  the  Catholic  Church  "  is  in 
no  sense  dishonest,  and  that  therefore  the  upholders  and  teachers 
of  that  system,  as  such,  have  a  claim  to  be  acquitted  in  their  own 
persons  of  that  odious  imputation." 

160  :  7. — Unspeakable  distress.  The  nature  of  Newman's  re- 
action upon  the  great  spectacle  of  human  folly,  wickedness, 
and  woe  should  be  carefully  noted.  His  distress  is  caused  not 
so  much  by  intense  sympathy  with  a  struggling  humanity,  as  by 
the  impingement  of  a  vast  mass  of  disorderly  evil  upon  his  con- 
sciousness, by  the  resulting  shock  to  his  spiritual  sensitiveness, 
and  by  the  threat  to  the  integrity  of  his  spiritual  life. 

160  :  18. —  J^his  voice.  Newman  postulates  a  God  in  obedience 
to  the  dictates  of  his  moral  consciousness.  Cf.  his  Grammar  of 
Assent,  ed.  1889,  p.  417  :  "  I  assume  the  presence  of  God  in  our 
conscience,  and  the  universal  experience,  as  keen  as  our  experience 
of  bodily  pain,  of  what  we  call  a  sense  of  sin  or  guilt.  This  sense 
of  sin,  as  of  something  not  only  evil  in  itself,  but  an  affront  to  the 
good  God,  is  chiefly  felt  as  regards  one  or  other  of  three  viola- 
tions of  His  law.  He  Himself  is  Sanctity,  Truth,  and  Love  ;  and 
the  three  offences  against  His  Majesty  are  impurity,  inveracity, 
and  cruelty."  This  consciousness  of  guilt,  Newman  urges,  is 
really  a  consciousness  of  the  violation  of  a  law ;  and  law  implies 
a  Lawgiver.  This  interpretation  of  conscience  is  what  Newman 
has  in  mind  when  he  speaks  of  assuming  "  the  presence  of  God  in 
our  conscience."  Cf.  Grammar  of  Assent,  ed.  1889,  p.  63,  where 
Newman  traces  in  detail  the  "  induction  from  particular  experi- 
ences of  conscience,"  by  means  of  which  we  have  "  a  warrant  for 
concluding  the  Ubiquitous  Presence  of  One  Supreme  Master." 

160:  22. — Arguments  in  proof  of  a  God.  Apart  from  this  testi- 
mony of  the  moral  consciousness,  the  so-called  demonstrations  of 
the  existence  of  God  seem  to  Newman,  on  the  whole,  of  doubtful 
worth.  Cf.  Discussions  and  Arguments,  ed.  1888,  p.  299  :  "  The 
whole  framework  of  Nature  is  confessedly  a  tissue  of  antecedents 


NOTES.  225 

and  consequents  ;  we  may  refer  all  things  forwards  to  design,  or 
backwards  on  a  physical  cause.  .  .  .  The  one  hypothesis  will 
solve  the  phenomena  as  well  as  the  other.  ...  I  believe  that 
the  study  of  Nature,  when  religious  feeling  is  away,  leads  the 
mind,  rightly  or  wrongly,  to  acquiesce  in  the  atheistic  theory,  as 
the  simplest  and  easiest."  This  assertion,  although  limited  by 
Newman  in  a  foot-note  (Selections,  p.  103),  seems  nevertheless  to 
express  his  prevailing  opinion.  Cf .  Discussions  and  Arguments, 
p.  295 :  "  I  would  rather  be  bound  to  defend  the  reasonable- 
ness of  assuming  that  Christianity  is  true,  than  to  demonstrate 
a  moral  governance  from  the  physical  world."  In  the  fourth 
of  his  University  Sermons,  p.  70,  Newman  speaks  of  the 
ineffectiveness  of  the  argument  from  design,  and  of  a  pos- 
sible "  unsoundness  in  the  intellectual  basis  of  the  argument." 
Even  in  the  passage  in  the  Grammar  of  Assent,  ed.  1889, 
p.  72,  where  he  summarizes  apparently  with  more  respect,  the 
argument  based  on  the  prevalence  of  order  in  the  universe,  he 
admits  that  the  argument  tends  merely  to  prove  the  existence  of 
"  mind  at  least  as  wide  and  as  enduring  in  its  living  action,  as  the 
immeasurable  ages  and  spaces  of  the  universe  on  which  that 
agency  has  left  its  traces."  Finally,  in  the  Grammar  of  Assent, 
p.  66,  he  expressly  notes  that  the  argument  for  a  great  First  Cause 
is  unconvincing.  From  these  passages,  then,  it  is  plain  that  New- 
man found  in  the  moral  consciousness  the  surest  grounds  for  his 
belief  in  God  ;  and  that  he  did  not  pretend,  even  on  these  grounds, 
to  demonstrate  the  existence  of  God,  but  merely  postulated  it  in 
obedience  to  an  instinct  as  imperative  as  that  which  leads  us  to 
postulate  the  existence  of  an  outside  world.  Cf.  Grammar  of 
Assent,  p.  63. 

167. — Miracles.  Newman's  various  pleas  for  miracles  have  ex- 
posed him  to  severe  attacks  on  the  score  of  insincerity,  credu- 
lousness,  and  illogicalness.  Newman  published  two  Essays  on 
Miracles,  the  first,  in  1826,  the  second,  in  1842,  as  a  preface  to  a 
new  translation  of  Fleury's  Ecclesiastical  History.  For  the  rela- 
tions between  the  two  Essays  see  the  Apologia,  ed.  1890,  pp.  20-23, 
and  Note  B,  at  the  end  of  the  Apologia,  on  Ecclesiastical  Mira- 
cles. Newman's  ideas  of  the  comparative  credibility  of  Scripture 
miracles  and  of  ecclesiastical  miracles  will  be  found  still  fur- 

'5 


226  NOTES. 

ther  expounded  in  the  correspondence  with  the  Bishop  of  Nor- 
wich, appended  to  the  Present  Position  of  Catholics.  For  criticisms 
of  Newman's  treatment  of  miracles  see  E.  A.  Abbott's  Philomy- 
thus ;  Kingsley's  What,  then,  does  Dr.  Newman  mean  ? ;  Prof. 
Huxley's  article  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,  XXV.,  p.  948 ;  and 
Leslie  Stephen's  Newman's  Theory  of  Belief  in  An  Agnostic's 
Apology.  A  vigorous  reply  to  Mr.  Abbott  may  be  found  in  Wil- 
frid Ward's  Philalethes  in  Witnesses  to  the  Unseen  and  Other 
Essays.  Cf.  R.  H.  Hutton,  Cardinal  Newman,  chap.  v. 

169  :  21. — Breviary.  The  daily  service-book  of  Catholic  priests  ; 
to  be  distinguished  from  the  Missal  which  contains  the  service 
of  the  Mass.  Beside  homilies,  prayers  and  psalms,  appropriate 
for  every  saint's  day,  the  Breviary  contains  many  legends  of  the 
lives  and  the  deaths  of  the  saints. 

174  :  6.— Holy  Coat.  The  Empress  Helena,  Mother  of  Con- 
stantine  the  Great,  is  said  to  have  presented  to  the  Cathedral  of 
Treves,  which  she  founded,  the  original  seamless  coat  of  Jesus. 
The  relic  was  exhibited  in  1844  to  vast  crowds  of  pilgrims  from 
all  parts  of  the  world;  the  next  exhibition,  that  of  1891,  was  also 
successful.  Argenteuil  in  France  possesses  a  rival  Holy  Coat, 
which  was  last  exhibited  in  the  spring  of  1894. 

176  :  2. — Froissart.  Jean  Froissart  (1337-1410),  whose  Chro- 
nique  deals  with  the  history  of  France  during  the  last  seventy-five 
years  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

176  :  2. — Stilly.  The  famous  minister  of  Henry  the  Fourth  of 
France.  His  Memoires  recite  the  events  of  his  administration 
under  that  monarch. 

176  :  3. — Doddington.  The  allusion  is  to  George  Bubb  Doding- 
ton,  Lord  Melcombe  (1691-1762),  whose  great  wealth,  shameless 
intrigues  for  office,  ostentatious  bad  taste,  and  occasional  wit 
have  combined  to  preserve  his  memory.  Thomson  dedicated  to 
him  his  Summer,  and  Hogarth  in  the  Analysis  of  Beauty  has 
immortalized  his  wig.  Hi's  Diary  (1784)  contains  much  amusing 
gossip  about  Court  life  under  George  II. 

176:4- — Sharon  Turner  (1768-1847).  He  is  best  remembered 
by  his  History  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  published  1799-1805.  I  le  also 
wrote  a  somewhat  portentous  Sacred  History  of  the  World  as  dis- 
played in  the  Creation  and  subsequent  Events. 


NOTES.  227 

177  :  i. — St.  Januarius.  See  Edward  Kinesman,  Lives  of  the 
Saints,  p.  742  :  "  The  most  stupendous  miracle  is  that  seen 
to  this  day  in  the  Church  of  St.  Gennaro,  in  Naples,  viz.,  the 
blood  of  St.  Januarius,  kept  in  two  glass  vials.  When  either 
vial,  held  in  the  right  hand,  is  presented  to  the  head  of  the  saint, 
the  congealed  blood  first  melts,  and  then  goes  on  apparently  to 
boil."  The  miracle  is  said  to  be  wrought  in  the  sight  of  large 
concourses  of  people,  thrice  yearly,  on  Sept.  19,  Dec.  20,  and 
about  the  first  of  May.  See  Alban  Butler,  Lives  of  the  Saints, 
ed.  1814,  IX.,  251.  Murat,  when  King  of  Naples,  is  said  to  have 
commanded  the  Bishop,  who  was  hostile  to  the  French,  to  work 
the  miracle  on  pain  of  seeing  his  church  cannonaded  out  of  exist- 
ence ;  after  many  protests  on  the  part  of  the  prelate,  the  miracle 
took  place. 

177  :  4. — Lombard  Crown.  The  famous  iron  crown  of  Italy, 
one  of  the  four  crowns  with  which  the  Emperors  of  the  Holy 
Roman  Empire  were  crowned.  See  Bryce's  Holy  Roman  Empire, 
chap.  xii.  The  crown  is  of  gold  and  is  decorated  with  many 
precious  stones  ;  it  gets  its  name  from  a  fillet  or  narrow  band  of 
iron,  running  round  the  inside,  and  said  to  have  been  made  of  a 
nail  used  in  the  Crucifixion.  With  this  crown  Napoleon  crowned 
himself  at  Milan  in  1805 ;  the  last  two  Austrian  Emperors  have 
also  been  crowned  with  it. 

178. — Gurta  and  Juba.  The  last  two  selections  are  given  to 
illustrate  Newman's  portrayal  of  the  supernatural.  If  his  con- 
ception of  life  and  of  religion  is  to  be  understood,  the  intensity 
of  his  belief  in  the  spiritual  world  must  be  thoroughly  apprehended. 
Cf.  Notes  85 : 2.  Common  life  is  for  Newman  enveloped  at  every 
point  in  a  circumambient  atmosphere  of  mystery,  which  at  any  mo- 
ment may  part  for  the  revelation  of  supernatural  forces.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  realize  the  intensity  of  this  conviction  of  Newman's  when  we 
read  those  of  his  discussions  in  which  he  grasps  comprehensively 
the  phenomena  of  the  actual  world, — facts  and  ideas, — and 
arranges  them  unerringly  in  their  proper  relations  in  due  subordi- 
nation to  their  determining  principles.  In  such  passages  he 
seems  anything  but  a  mystic,  and  his  clear  apprehension  of  facts 
and  rigorous  application  of  principles  seem  quite  out  of  keeping 
with  a  mystical  habit  of  mind.  Yet  the  orderly  wprld  of  science 


228  NOTES, 

that  Newman's  logic  gives  him,  is  only  a  part  of  his  truth.  The 
system  of  nature  is  one  system ;  the  system  of  the  supernatural 
is  another  system,  even  more  real  than  the  natural,  and  infinitely 
more  important  in  its  issues  for  good  and  for  ill.  At  any  mo- 
ment, the  white  light  of  infinite  bliss  may  rain  down  on  our  com- 
mon life,  or  our  ordinary,  every-day  paths  may  suddenly  open 
beneath  our  feet  into  black  gulfs  of  infinite  woe. 

178  :  i. — In  the  bosom  of  the  woods.  Newman's  Callista,  a  Tal* 
of  the  Third  Century,  published  in  1855,  was  written  to  illustrate 
the  relations  between  Christians  and  heathen  during  the  earliest 
days  of  the  Church.  Callista  is  a  Greek  maiden,  a  modeller  of 
images,  who,  losing  her  first  naive  delight  in  life  and  her  sense  of 
untroubled  youth,  grows  more  and  more  restless  and  distraught, 
until  one  day  a  priest  of  the  new  religion  puts  before  her  in  simple 
words  the  story  of  God's  love  to  man  and  his  promises  of 
eternal  life  to  those  who  do  his  will.  The  world-weary  girl  finds 
here  an  escape  from  her  despair,  becomes  a  Christian,  and  almost 
at  once  proves  her  sincerity  by  joyfully  welcoming  martyrdom. 
Two  other  characters  in  the  story  are  the  youths  Agellius  and 
Juba,  the  former  a  Christian,  the  latter  a  scoffer  at  all  religions. 
Agellius  is  in  love  with  Callista  but  never  wins  more  than  a  word 
from  her.  He  is  faithful,  however,  in  his  remote  adoration,  and 
is  the  leader  of  the  small  band  of  Christians,  who,  after  her  mar- 
tyrdom, bear  off  her  body  for  Christian  burial.  His  step-mother, 
and  Juba's,  is  Gurta,  a  Numidian  woman,  who  has  the  reputation 
of  a  sorceress.  The  scene  in  the  chapters  given  in  the  text  is 
laid  at  her  hut,  and  the  time  is  just  after  the  mob  of  the  neighbor- 
ing city  have  made  a  fierce  onslaught  on  Christians.  In  the 
tumult  Callista  has  been  captured  and  imprisoned  on  suspicion. 

193  :  i. — O  -wisdom  of  the  -world.  Callista  is  in  prison.  She 
has  been  baptised  by  a  Christian  priest,  and  has  received  the 
Eucharist.  An  imperial  rescript  has  just  arrived  commanding 
her  torture  and  execution  on  the  morrow. 


KteabtttGS  tot  Stubente. 

English  masterpieces  in  editions  at  once  competently  edited  and 
inexpensive.  The  aim  will  be  to  fill  vacancies  now  existing 
because  of  subject,  treatment,  or  price.  Prices  given  below  are 
NET,  postage  eight  per  cent,  additional,  ibmo.  Cloth. 

Arnold  (Matthew)!  Prose  Selections. 

Edited  by  LEWIS  E.  GATES,  Asst.  Professor  in  Harvard,    xci  -f-  348  pp.    goc. 

Includes  The  Function  of  Criticism,  First  Lecture  on  Trans- 

lating Homer,  Literature  and  Science,  Culture  and  Anarchy, 

Sweetness  and  Light,  Compulsory  Education,  "  Life  a  Dream," 

Emerson,  and  twelve  shorter  selections,  including  America. 

Bliss  Perry,  Professor  in  Princeton:  —  ''The  selections  seem  to  me 
most  happy,  and  the  introduction  is  even  better  if  possible  than  his 
introduction  to  the  Newman  volume.  Indeed  I  have  read  no  criticism 
of  Arnold's  prose  which  appears  to  me  as  luminous  and  just,  and 
expressed  with  such  literary  charm." 

Browning:     Selected     Lyrical     and     Dramatic 
Poems. 

With  the  essay  on  Browning  from  E.  C.  Stedman's  "Victorian  Poets." 
Edited  by  EDWARD  T.  MASON.  375  pp.  6oc. 

Burke  :  Selections. 

Edited  by  BLISS  PERRY,  Professor  in  Princeton,  xxvi  -f-  298  pp.  6oc. 
Contents;  Speeches  at  Arrival  at  Bristol,  at  Conclusion  of 
the  Poll  ;  Letters  to  the  Marquis  of  Rockingham,  to  the  Sheriffs 
of  Bristol,  and  to  a  Noble  Lord;  Address  to  the  King  ;  Selec- 
tions from  The  Sublime  and  the  Beautiful,  from  Thoughts  on 
the  Present  Discontents,  from  Speech  on  the  Nabob  of  Arcot's 
Debts,  from  Impeachment  of  Hastings  (2),  from  Reflections  on 
the  Revolution  in  France  (7,  including  Fiat  Money). 

Edward  Dowden,  the  Author  and  Critic:—  "They  seem  to  me  admira- 
bly chosen  and  arranged,  and  the  introduction  brings  various  aspects 
of  Burke's  mind  truly  and  vividly  before  the  reader." 

Coleridge  :  Prose  Extracts. 

Edited  by  HENRY  A.  BEERS,  Professor  in  Yale  College.   xix-l-t^S  pp.  500. 


The  selections,  varying  in  length  from  a  paragraph  to  ten 
or  twenty  pages,  are  mainly  from   Table   Talk  and  Biographia 
Literaria,  but  also  Irom  J/otes  on  Shakespeare^  ecc. 
atii'99. 


English  Readings  for  Students. 


De  Quincey :  Joan  of  Arc ;   The  Mail  Coach. 

Edited   by  JAMES    MORGAN    HART,   Professor  in    Cornell  University, 
xxvi  +  'sS  PP.     500. 

The  introduction  sketches  De  Quincey's  life  and  style. 
Allusions  and  other  difficult  points  are  explained  in  the  notes. 
This  volume  and  the  Essays  on  Bos-well's  Johnson  (see  under 
Macaulay)  are  used  at  Cornell  for  elementary  rhetorical  study. 

Dryden  :  Essays  on  the  Drama. 

Edited  by  WM.  STRUNK,  Jr.,  Instructor  in  Cornell  University.    xxxviii  + 
180  pp.     soc. 

This  volume  contains  The  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy  and, 
among  the  critical  prefaces,  Of  Heroic  Plays  and  The  Grounds 
of  Criticism  in  Tragedy.  These  are  not  only  excellent  speci- 
mens of  classical  English,  but  also  have  a  high  reputation  for 
the  value  of  their  literary  opinions.  The  introduction,  besides 
treating  of  Dryden's  life  and  prose  style,  sets  forth  clearly 
how  he  used  the  theories  of  the  drama  which  he  found  in 
Aristotle,  Horace,  and.Corneille. 

Ford:   The  Broken  Heart 

A  Spartan  Tragedy  in  verse.    Edited  by  CLINTON  SCOLLARD,  Professor 
in  Hamilton  College.    xvi  +  i32pp.    500.    (Buckram,  700.) 

A  play  notable  for  its  repressed  emotion  and  psychological 
interest.  Charles  Lamb  wrote:  "  I  do  not  know  where  to  find 
in  any  play  a  catastrophe  so  grand,  so  solemn,  and  so  surpris- 
ing as  this  "  [of  The  Broken  Heart], 

Johnson :  Rasselas. 

Kdited  by  OLIVER    FARRAR  EMRRSON,  Professoi    "n  Adelbert  College. 
Ivi  +  179  pp.    500.    (Buckram,  70*.) 

The  introduction  treats  of  Johnson's  style,  the  circumstances 
under  which  jRasselas  was  written,  and  its  place  in  the  history 
of  fiction.  The  notes  explain  allusions  and  trace  the  sources 
of  some  of  Johnson's  materials. 

Landor:    Selections  from  the  Imaginary  Con- 
versations. 

Edited  by  Prof.  A.  G.  NEWCOMER  of  Stanford  University,  lix  + 166  pp.   500 
Sixteen  of  the  "  Conversations,"  which  have  been  chosen  espe- 
cially because  of  their  vital  and  stimulating  character,  which  appeals 
strongly  to  the  young  student. 


English  Readings  for  Students. 


Lyly:    Endimion. 

Edited  by  GEORGE  P.  BAKER,  Professor  in  Harvard  College,     cxcvi  +  i°9 
pp.    85  cents.     (Buckram,  $1.25.) 

The  Academy,  London: — "  It  is  refreshing  to  come  upon  such  a  piece 
of  sterling  work;  .  .  .  the  most  complete  and  satisfactory  account  of 
Lyly  that  has  yet  appeared." 

Macaulay   and    Carlyle:    Essays    on    Samuel 
Johnson. 

Edited    by  WILLIAM    STRUNK,   Jr.,    Instructor   in    Cornell    University. 
xl-J-igi  pp.    s06- 

These  two  essays  present  a  constant  contrast  in  intellectual  and 
moral  methods  of  criticism,  and  offer  an  excellent  introduction  to  the 
study  of  the  literary  history  of  Johnson's  times. 

Marlowe :    Edward  II.     With  the  best  passages 
from  TAMBURLAINE  THE  GREAT,  and  from  his  POEMS. 

Edited  by  the  late  EDWARD  T.  MCLAUGHLIN,  Professor  in  Yale  College. 
xxi-|-i8o  pp.     soc.    (Buckram,  joe.) 

Edward  II. ,  besides  being  Marlowe's  most  important  play,  is  of 
great  interest  in  connection  with  Shakespere.  The  earlier  chronicle 
drama  was  in  Shakespere's  memory  as  he  was  writing  Richard  II.,  as 
various  passages  prove,  and  a  comparison  of  the  two  plays  (sketched 
in  the  introduction)  affords  basis  for  a  study  in  the  development  of 
the  Elizabethan  drama. 

Newman :  Prose  Selections. 

Edited  by  LEWIS  E.  GATES,  Professor  in  Harvard  College.    lxu-f-«£  pp. 
SQC.    (Buckram,  ooc.) 

PROFESSOR  R.  G.  MOULTON  of  University  of  Chicago:  "I  am  generally 
suspicious  of  books  of  selections,  but  I  think  Newman  makes  an  exceptional  case. 
.  .  The  selection  seems  excellent,  and  the  introduction  is  well  balanced  between 
points  of  form  and  matter.  The  whole  has  one  special  merit:  it  is  interesting  in  a 
high  degree." 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO., 

39  W.  33d  St.,  New  York.  -  -  378  Wabash  Ave.,  Chicago. 


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